


Here Be Dragons

by MorinoAthame



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorinoAthame/pseuds/MorinoAthame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long set of one shots, each inspired by a different word, for various Hobbit pairings as follows:<br/>01. Wonder - Bilbo/Bofur<br/>02. Anchoring - Bilbo/Dwalin<br/>03. Dreaminess - Bilbo/Bifur<br/>04. Passion - Bilbo/Thorin<br/>05. Recollection - Bilbo/Nori<br/>06. Enchantment - Bilbo/Gandalf<br/>07. Exuberance - Bilbo/Kili<br/>08. Unpredictability - Dori, Nori, & Ori<br/>09. Extravagance - Bofur/Nori<br/>10. Desire - Bofur/Thorin<br/>11. Brilliance - Bilbo/Fili<br/>12. Instinct - Balin/Bilbo<br/>13. Subtlety - Dwalin/Nori<br/>14. Truthfulness - Bilbo/Elrond<br/>15. Satisfaction - Bilbo/Dori</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wonder - Bilbo/Bofur

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Чудо](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532323) by [Jiminy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiminy/pseuds/Jiminy)



> After reading so many great and interesting stories involving the characters of 'The Hobbit,' I felt the need to write some of my own. (Though, I'll hardly claim that anything I do is great or interesting.) Not sure what to do, and having had the idea to use my deck of 'Dragon Cards' for some time as inspiration, I decided to shuffle them and write a one shot for each card. 
> 
> These stories will vary in pairing quite a bit, though a vast majority, if not all, of them will likely involve Bilbo. I can't help it he seems to be the Company bicycle. He's just so easy to slash with practically everyone. I will change the tags as new pairings are added and content changes. 
> 
> Up first is...
> 
> Wonder - This dragon is astonished by all it sees. Why not go stargazing with it? What might you see?

Bofur had been all over, traveling from one settlement of Men to another. He’d seen many things and had become used to the world. He didn’t see much wonder in it at all anymore, hadn’t in most things from the beginning. Oh, he enjoyed life, enjoyed it well, but there just wasn’t anything so magnificent to look upon. People were where wonder rested, and most people weren’t at all wonderful.

When he’d come to the Shire, plodding along with his cousin and brother and some of the others, he’d felt a tiny spark of it, of wonder. The rolling green hills, peaceful atmosphere, and the fresh clean scent of the place; it was like they’d walked into a bubble set apart from the rest of the world. And the people, they were something to behold, gentle and naïve, and oh so suspicious. But the spark came and went and nothing was to be made of it. Nothing stood out and took his breath away.

Nothing until he met their host and saw him bustle around with a flush of indignation on his cheeks and a furrow of confusion on his brow. His little curls bounced as he raced about, and he was the cutest thing Bofur had ever seen; the dwarf was certain of it. And the way he’d get all indignant and huffy when teased… Oh, Bofur knew he could very well describe Bilbo Baggins as wonderful, even at the start.

Once they were on the road, though, he never ceased to marvel at the way Bilbo would be wowed by almost everything they saw; even the seemingly mundane was new and spectacular to the little hobbit. His eyes would light up, and with them his entire face, as he smiled and took in everything around him. As much as Bilbo hated traveling and trudging through the wilderness, missed the comforts of hearth and home, he delighted in the plants and scenery all around him.

To Bilbo, all of Middle Earth was a wonder, a vast and exciting place full of marvels and beauty, from a teeny weed along the road to a centuries old tree growing thick and tall beyond measure above their heads. Bofur hated that, eventually, the shine would tarnish and Bilbo would see the truth of the world, the dirty, ugly, horrific truth that beauty was only on the surface. Hate and greed and danger were right underneath, waiting to break the hobbit’s spirit and his joy. The toymaker would give anything to spare him, but he knew that he could not.

And so, one night and into morning, in the form of three mountain trolls and a band of orc and warg, it happened. The cruelty of the world was shoved so painfully into Bilbo’s face, driven into him so utterly completely that Bofur was afraid to see how the little one would take it. He vowed to pull Bilbo close at the first opportunity and assure him, of what he wasn’t sure, but he’d assure him nonetheless. The reality had to be so much worse than the jest he’d done at Bag End, to the point of causing the hobbit to faint. And though nothing could really make it right again, he would try. For Bilbo, anything.

Safe in Rivendell, Bofur went to him, pulled him aside to make sure for himself that the hobbit was well. The smile he received, beaming and bright and oh so full of wonder, assured him that all was well. “Isn’t this place magnificent?” Bilbo asked him in hushed awe. “I’ve never seen the like, and the elves!” He grinned as he put a hand on Bofur’s arm and gave a small squeeze in his excitement.

Bofur blinked at him then pulled Bilbo into a crushing hug that startled the hobbit, given the squeak he issued. After the trauma, the horror of the flight, Bilbo was still Bilbo, and he’d not lost sight of the wonder in the world. “Aye, laddie, it’s something,” he breathed into the hobbit’s soft curls. He could only hope the rest of the quest didn’t change how Bilbo saw the world.

Bilbo relaxed against him and patted his back, making a soothing murmur into his chest. It was only then that Bofur realized he was actually crying softly. “Never change, laddie.” He pulled back and looked down at Bilbo. “Promise me, you won’t stop seeing the world as you do.”

The hobbit looked up at him, face twisted in that cute confused way he had. “Why would I ever see the world as anything but magnificent?”

Bofur laughed and gave him another crushing hug, resting his forehead to Bilbo’s. Why indeed.

Maybe the magnificence of the world was lost to Bofur, but he could have a piece of it, through Bilbo. Bilbo could be his wonder, and he was fine with that. 


	2. Anchoring - Bilbo/Dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anchoring - This dragon's heavy scales weight it to the ground. Are you glad to be anchored, or do you long to take flight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going with what comes to me, so sometimes the interpretation of the words/cards will be very literal. Other times, it'll be vague at best. This one started out toward the literal but then changed its mind.

The ups and downs of the journey were a lot more than a hobbit could bear. Many times Bilbo seriously thought about turning around for home, but he knew he could never make it back on his own. So, he kept on going, getting more use to the company, travel, and the horrors of sleeping in the wild.

After the pleasant night in Rivendell, being back on the road was worse yet. But nothing could have prepared him for the Misty Mountains, giants, goblins, wargs, and orcs. The hobbit didn’t really know how he’d had the sense to get through it all. Half way through, he’d been a split second from taking on the giants again just to get back to the elves. He’d never be missed, and he knew it.

Riddling with a creature in the dark and killing orcs was not something he felt even a Took would do. He was losing himself on this adventure, losing the hobbit inside of him. He looked the part but all else… The security he’d always had was gone and he _was_ lost. More than he had been when Thorin had bit out those hateful words on the mountain.

As they camped at the bottom of what Gandalf called the Carrock, he huddled alone as Oin and the others made sure their king was well. He tried to clean his sword, wiping at it in a haze, more smearing the gore than getting it off. So lost to his thoughts and automatic motion, Bilbo nearly came out of his skin when a large hand fell over his own, starting to guide him in his cleaning.

The hobbit hadn’t even noticed Dwalin sit beside him, and he flushed at how close the dwarf was and the fact that he was _touching_ Bilbo. The hand was strong and rough, and his belly tightened as his breath caught.

Bilbo’d had his eye on Dwalin for a while. There was just something about the large, brusque, intimidating, strong dwarf that drew Bilbo in; had from the moment the dwarf had eaten his supper. Anytime trouble had reared its head, it was to Dwalin Bilbo looked, and even at a distance, the presence of the dwarf comforted him. It was in no small part due to Dwalin that he’d wanted to prove his worth, that he was there at that moment, hand under the warm touch of the warrior dwarf.

Looking up at the dwarf, he swallowed. “Master Dwalin?” He asked, hesitant. Speaking might chase the dwarf away.

“You’re doing it wrong, lad. Now pay attention.” He continued to move Bilbo’s hand in slow, sure strokes along the blade, pushing the mess off the blade instead of smearing it around. “Sword’s a responsibility. You have to take care of them, though I doubt anything could do any damage to such an Elven blade.”

The hobbit looked at their hands, watching the rhythmic strokes. He swallowed nervously. “Uh… Th… thank you.” He glanced up at the dwarf again, but Dwalin was watching what he was doing with clear concentration.

“You did well against the orcs. Took us all by surprise. No real form, but sometimes all you need is proper motivation.” Dwalin didn’t spare him a look, reaching around behind Bilbo to take his other hand and turn the blade over. He left his arm and hand there, gripping the hilt of the small sword and Bilbo’s other hand.

Locked in this semi-embrace, Bilbo felt warm and safe, as if the world around them had no way of getting to him. Dwalin’s arm was hard as stone across his shoulders, strong and secure. Bilbo found himself leaning back into it as he tried to focus on what the dwarf was showing him. But, really, he’d gotten the idea of how to clean the sword after the first couple swipes. It was becoming clear that this had little to do with the ‘letter opener.’

Dwalin was silent for several minutes, turning the blade again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. The hobbit shifted a glanced up at him again, feeling so small against the dwarf’s side. “Master Dwalin?” He asked softly.

The warrior finally looked down at him, breathing out through his nose enough to ruffle his beard and Bilbo’s curls. The hands covering Bilbo’s tightened, and under the firm gaze the hobbit shifted and would have hunched in on himself if he were not stuck against the dwarf’s side. “Uh…” Bilbo glanced around at the others, but they were steadfastly _not_ looking in their direction. Whatever was going on, they wanted no part in it, and Bilbo shifted and tugged fruitlessly against Dwalin’s hold.

“You were very brave, Halfling, and we are very grateful.” Dwalin’s voice drew his gaze back to the dwarf, and he met the other’s gaze even as he felt the need to cow under it. “But you were a fool. You could have been killed!” His voice was quiet, and Bilbo really wished it wasn’t. He was accustomed to Dwalin yelling. This quiet, contained anger was all the more frightening. That said, he couldn’t just sit there, he had to try to calm the dwarf down.

“Be that as it may, Thorin is needed by you, by the others, by his people. What’s one little hobbit in the face of all of that?” He asked quietly. “I did what I had to do. No one’s going to miss _me_ , but _Thorin_ has to make it to the mountain, has to bring his people home.”

The growl that escaped Dwalin was loud and reverberating. Bilbo felt in his bones, and it echoed off the rock faces around them. Suddenly, he wasn’t being held anymore, the hands and the body were gone, and Bilbo found himself completely alone in his little spot away from the others. He heard Dwalin stomping off, making no move to be quiet about it, and then came silence.

Bilbo shook, his little sword falling from his trembling fingers to the dirt, and he made no move to pick it up, instead flexing his fingers a few times before curling his hands into loose fists. He had no idea what had just happened. First Dwalin’s praising him and the next thing he knows the dwarf is full of barely contained fury. It was very confusing.

He sat there for a long time, vaguely aware of the murmurs across the camp as the others talked to each other in hushed voices. He felt ostracized from the group, and he was again sorely contemplating fleeing for Rivendell when he heard hard, determined footfalls heading for him. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew it had to be Thorin.

The prince sat down with a grunt of pain and stared at him, hard. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you, hobbit?”

“So everyone continues to point out. No matter what I’ll always be the weak link, the fool, the useless baggage, the hindrance, and whatever else it is you all think,” he informed him sourly. It wasn’t really fair, but Bilbo found he didn’t care.

Thorin sighed, sounding tired and irritated. “It is by my hand you have been led to believe these things about yourself. For that, I apologize.”

Bilbo’s head shot up and he stared at the king in wonder. It was weird, having the prince being apologetic, especially now that they were off the Carrock and things were getting back to normal. The steely blue gaze was unwavering, and he gave a small nod. “It’s alright. Really. I’m just blowing off steam.” He was familiar with being the odd duck. There was no reason for him to take his frustrations out on Thorin, who was injured and tired and had far too much on his mind to deal with this nuisance. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”

“Yet here we are.” Thorin rolled his eyes. “You scared him, burglar.”

“Scared him? You mean _Dwalin_?!” He asked, a little too loudly. He noticed Thorin glance at the others and followed his gaze. All of their heads suddenly shot around, finding absolutely anything to look at but prince and hobbit. Dwalin wasn’t among them, he noted.

“You really _are_ oblivious. Yes, Dwalin, Master Baggins.” Thorin shifted and winced slightly. It said something that he let Bilbo witness it, the hobbit was certain.

Bilbo frowned and gripped his trousers at the knees. How on Arda could he have _scared_ Dwalin? He was the least scary in the group, even mousy Ori was more intimidating… Okay, maybe not when Bilbo got going on a good tirade, but otherwise… “How?” He asked, blinking at the prince.

Thorin gave a small growl. “How can you be this naïve?” He asked in frustration.

“Excuse me for not knowing any and all there is to know about you damn dwarrows!” He huffed at him, grabbing up his sword and shoving it in its sheath as he rose to his feet.

Thorin scowled up at him. “Baggins,” he growled in warning. It seemed things really were getting back to normal if Thorin was back to that tone. The prince sighed and ran a hand over his beard. “You recklessly threw yourself into danger, with little chance of survival. _That_ scared him.”

“I was saving _you_. I was the only one that was close enough, fast enough, or at least reacted fast enough. I don’t mean that they didn’t… wouldn’t… that they _couldn’t_ have done. I just…”

Rising to his feet, Thorin grimaced and put an arm around his ribs. His other hand he raised and rested on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Bilbo Baggins, I will say this once more, and only the once, and then I will leave this mess to you and Dwalin.” He looked Bilbo in the eye. “You _scared_ him. He thought you would be _lost_.” The prince dropped his hand from the hobbit’s shoulder and walked away, going back to the fire and the company.

Bilbo puzzled over the words, still not really grasping what Thorin was trying to say. Dwalin valued his friends, the hobbit knew that. Apparently he was no win their number, but it seemed… He’d put extra emphasis on lost.

_‘I thought we’d lost our burglar.’_ Dwalin’s voice tickled the back of his mind as did the memory of a warm strong hand patting him on the shoulder. Thinking about it, it had been as if he was reassuring himself that Bilbo was still standing there. Then after the goblins Dwalin had looked ready to turn around and go back to the cave. Granted, he hadn’t been the only one, but…

Oh. _Oh!_ He really was a fool. Could he really believe it, though?

Determined, Bilbo turned to look for the warrior. He wasn’t with the rest, and he sighed to himself in disappointment. He wanted to get this discussion done and then see what happened. If he couldn’t find the damned dwarf… Twinkling aged eyes caught his gaze and then darted pointedly toward a large rock a short distance away.

Bilbo gave Gandalf a grateful smile and headed that way. On quiet hobbit feet, he padded around the boulder and found Dwalin sitting with his back to him, sharpening at one of his axes. The hobbit paused, not sure he wanted to approach after the dwarf’s aggravated exit and there being a weapon in his hand. Steeling himself, he silently walked up to the dwarf and rested his hand on a large shoulder.

Dwalin stiffened but at least didn’t attack. He looked over and frowned. “Halfling.”

“I really don’t like that word,” Bilbo informed him before sitting down beside him, close but not so close as to be in his personal space.

The warrior grunted but didn’t comment. Bilbo sighed softly. This was going to be like pulling warg teeth. For a few minutes, he just sat there, silent, waiting to see if the dwarf would say anything, or give anything away. He wasn’t surprised that it didn’t happen. All Dwalin did was change axes.

“Look… I’m sorry.” Bilbo shifted a little closer. “I can be a bit dense sometimes. I’m not that good with people, bit of an odd duck, you see. Have to be to end up out here. Hobbits aren’t made for this, not even Tooks. Not sure how I’ll ever show my face back in the Shire. Be a right laughing stock, I will. Not that I haven’t been before. I can handle it well enough, I suppose. Besides, it’ll be worth it, having come along and helped everyone.” He smiled at Dwalin, who had stopped his sharpening to stare at him. “I’d not change my choice to be here for anything, and I’d not change what I’ve done. Well, maybe the troll snot, but that’s probably the only thing. Oh, and forgetting my handkerchief. Not that I don’t appreciate the substitute, but it’s not quite the same. And, well, there’s…”

Dwalin surged forward and sealed his mouth over Bilbo’s, effectively stopping the torrent of words. The hobbit squeaked and tangled his fingers in the dwarf’s beard, shocked and needing something to grasp onto. As quickly as it started, Dwalin pulled back to rest his forehead to Bilbo’s. “You talk too much.”

The hobbit huffed. “I talk as much as I feel I need to, thank you very much. It’s not my fault I have to prattle on. You dwarrows only hear every third word, anyhow.”

The warrior laughed and set his ax aside to pull Bilbo into his lap. “I hear everything you say, and half of it is nothing but nervous chatter and reiteration.”

He blinked up at Dwalin. “Reiteration?” He started giggling. Bilbo couldn’t help it.

“What?” Dwalin demanded, frowning at him, which only made the giggles worse. “It’s a word!” He defended himself.

Bilbo tried to calm himself down. “Yes.” He grinned. “I just didn’t know you’d _know_ it.”

Dwalin grunted and grumbled, scowling at him. The hobbit chuckled and rested his head against Dwalin’s again, which seemed to appease him well enough. “Are you sure this is what you want?” The dwarf asked him.

“I wouldn’t be sitting here like this if it wasn’t.” Bilbo bumped his nose against Dwalin’s. “I was trying to say, before, that I’d change that I never noticed before, that you were watching me, too.” He grinned as the warrior pulled back to look at him intently. Then he was being held close and kissed again.

Bilbo kissed back. He’d not consider running away again. He had even more reason to stay, and stay he would. He’d see his friends back to the mountain; he’d see Dwalin back to his home. When they got there, when the dragon was gone, he knew he’d have a choice to make, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t worry about it yet.


	3. Dreaminess - Bilbo/Bifur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreaminess - A dragon has blown smoke between you and your goal. Is this a time for creative daydreaming and if so where might it take you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV bounces a bit, but the changes are obvious.

Bilbo tried not to stare, he really did, but there was just something about the dwarf that demanded his attention. As gruff as he seemed as he gestured roughly and rumbled words that were more like gavel tumbling over itself in a deep cave, he had a gentleness about him as well. Part of Bilbo wanted to bundle the older dwarf close and dote on him. Another part was still scared of him.

His attention didn’t go unnoticed. Bofur smiled at him gently one evening as they helped Bombur with supper. “You’ve been watchin’ Bif awful hard lately.” He laughed when Bilbo felt his neck and ears heat up. “Been a long time since he’s caught an eye.” His humor turned to a measure of sadness as he glanced at his cousin.

“I…” The hobbit had no idea what to say to Bofur. Of course he’d been watching, so he couldn’t deny it. Awkward excuses rattled around in his head, but he couldn’t risk insulting Bofur or his kin.

Bofur read into his silence. “It’s okay.” He patted Bilbo on the back, eyes sadder still. “If it’s just curiosity, I understand. He gets that a lot.”

“It’s not… I mean… Oh bother.” He huffed, redder than he already was, unable to articulate what he was thinking, feeling. Honestly, Bilbo wasn’t sure he knew to be able to. It was all a jumble of wistfulness, butterflies, and a thrill of danger, hardly enough to go making a fool out of himself or bothering Bifur with.

The hatted dwarf looked at him a moment. “Do you like Bifur? Seems simple enough.”

“I don’t know him, can’t even understand him.” He looked down at his feet, feeling ashamed even though it wasn’t his fault. Bifur had a hard enough life without having to deal with people who couldn’t understand him, who didn’t even bother to try, seeing it as a waste of their time. And Bilbo didn’t think it was a waste, never a waste, but he didn’t know _how_ to go about figuring out a way to understand.

Bofur gave a nod and that seemed to be the end of it, for nearly two weeks.

  * * * 

Bifur had noticed the glances, and for the longest time either quickly forgot about them or put them off as the stares he was used to, even from his own kind let alone from Men, which he was beginning to learn hobbits were not as much like as he first thought. But, eventually, through random thoughts of no end of many things, it sunk in that the hobbit was _watching_ him, almost dreamily on occasion.

At first, he wondered if he was being mocked. Mahal knew he’d zone out and get that sort of look, but Baggins would never do that. He always seemed to get so flustered and red when he realized what he was doing, especially if someone caught him at his daydreaming. But Bifur knew it wasn’t daydreaming, at least not strictly. No, whatever thoughts were going on in the hobbits head, they had to do with Bifur. It left the dwarf something to try to focus on. It took him days to think it through.

Those days he took to watching the hobbit back. Baggins flushed and twitched and babbled at whomever he was talking to at the time, clearly well aware of the scrutiny and nervous for it. With all the staring that Baggins had done, though, Bifur felt it only right that he stare back. On occasion, he’d get distracted. A stray thought would wander in or something would catch his eye, but he always came back to Bilbo, pondering over the small creature and what to do with him.

It was clear that Baggins was the good sort, to a fault, really. It made him look like a fool, but Bifur knew a lot about fools. The hobbit was all heart and not a small measure of pride. Never too quick to temper, but he’d not be trod upon, either, as many of them were beginning to realize. Seeing him whack Fili and Kili over the heads like a dwarrowdam when the youngsters had tried to sneak something into the supper pot had been amusing to most of them, if not the two in question, and the proper tongue lashing he’d given them had been equally amusing.

There were layers to Baggins, maybe not as many as there were to most of the dwarves, who had seen hard lives and done so much more than sit in their little hobbit hole and have a quiet life, but there were layers.

Courting beads were a traditional part of speaking your intentions toward a prospective partner. So Bifur began to carve one from a small bit of wood. Metals and stones were what a dwarf would give a dwarf, but Baggins was a hobbit, and they had an affinity for plants and nature. Wood seemed right to Bifur, and when he’d found a nice piece of a rich, dark ebony wood, he knew it would be perfect to go in the hobbit’s lighter hair.

Bofur found no end of amusement out of Bifur’s attempts to be secretive with what he was doing. It wasn’t hard. Most of the others didn’t pay any mind to what Bifur did, always expecting him to be doing something odd. He didn’t mind. At times he wasn’t clear on where he was or what was going on, and he knew he could be odd. He couldn’t fault his fellow dwarves. Bofur and Bombur, though, noticed what he was doing, and it pleased him that they approved.

After days of watching and carving, while sitting on watch one night with his cousin, Bifur walked over to where Baggins slept. His fingers could be clumsy, especially if he rushed himself, but he sat down beside the hobbit and slowly and carefully, as he would with one of his carvings, worked a courting braid and the bead into the soft curls. He was pleased with the result and moved back over to Bofur with a satisfied smile on his face.

Bofur only grinned and shook his head. “He probably won’t understand.”

Bifur knew that, but it was the best way for him to express himself; the hobbit couldn’t understand anything he said. Even if Bilbo took the braid out when he woke, he’d still have the bead, and everyone else would know that someone had intentions on the hobbit and would respect it.

Dwalin and Nori relieved them for watch an hour later, and both bedded down near Bombur, who was sleeping beside Bilbo. The two had gone to bed discussing the types of cheese made in the Shire, wistful smiles on both their faces. Morning would come soon enough, and Bifur was anxious to see what came of his gift to the hobbit.

* * *

Bilbo heard the dwarves moving around the camp but tried to get just a little more rest before Thorin was prodding him with the toe of his boot and growling at him to get his lazy bones up. The hobbit heard a small growl, deep and menacing as it was quiet, off to his left but he paid it no mind. It wasn’t unusual for the dwarves to growl at one another, and he’d given up trying to figure out the various reasons they did it. He was relatively certain, unless he was being glared at, at the time, they had nothing to do with him.

He stretched and reached his left hand up to scratch at the top of his head, smiling a bit bleary eyed at Bofur and Bifur, both of which were watching him rather intently. In fact, more than half the dwarves were watching him rather intently. He lowered his arm slowly, blinking around at them in confusion. Had he done something wrong? Was there a bug on him somewhere?

The hobbit quickly patted himself down and accessed the situation. Nothing was out of place or on him. He couldn’t for the life of him realize what was going on. He turned his confusion to irritation and glowered at the company. “ _What_?” He bit out, sourly.

Several gazes turned away from him, as if just realizing they were staring, which was about as helpful as the sun during a drought. He was just about to get truly vocal about his irritation when Thorin reached out and tugged on the hair behind his right ear. “ _Ouch!_ ” He shoved the dwarf prince’s arm away and glared up at him, even as he heard that slight growl again.

Bilbo turned his head toward Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, and Kili, who sat to his left. Kili was steadfastly not looking at him, cheeks flushed lightly as he stared at the ground. It was rather odd behavior for the dwarf, and it only helped to confuse him more. Bombur was smiling happily, practically beaming at Bilbo, and the hobbit really wished someone would _say_ something other than smile, or tug on his hair.

Bofur finally seemed to take pity on him, though it was clear he was having far more amusement from what was going on than he really had right to. He stood up, marched over to Nori and tugged a small mirror out of one of the sly dwarf’s many pockets. The miner ignored the indignant shout from Nori and walked over and handed the small circle of glass to Bilbo.

As Bilbo took the mirror, still confused, Bofur flicked something behind his right ear where only hair should be. There was the distinct sound of his fingernail hitting something. He quickly looked to see what it was.

A delicate, small braid, which on closer inspection was a bit more complicated than anything Bilbo had ever seen in hobbit hair, especially given the small size of it, wound from his temple along the shape of his ear. At the end was a small wooden bead. He couldn’t quite make out what was carved on it, but he could tell it was beautifully done, and the tone of the wood went splendidly with the color of his hair. Someone had put a lot of thought and work into bead and braid. Someone had braided his hair while he was _asleep_!

Bilbo nearly dropped the mirror, Nori’s fingers suddenly there to pluck it away and to safety, and darted his gaze around at all of the dwarves. There were a few he could easily eliminate. Kili and Fili couldn’t do anything that quietly or painstaking. They’d get bored, if nothing else. Thorin wouldn’t bother, he had other things on his mind, and he had a rather low opinion of Bilbo, anyway. Dwalin… No, it wouldn’t have been him. Bilbo doubted his blunt fingers could work hair as splendidly.

There was, of course, Nori, whose fingers were more agile than the others and he was the slyest of the group. Bilbo knew that Nori wouldn’t have braided anyone’s hair but Bofur’s, and likewise Bofur would have only seen to Nori’s. The two tried to hide it, but Bilbo was pretty certain most everyone had figured it out.

Ori and Dori both had nimble fingers, if their knitting was anything to go by, but he doubted it had been them. Balin… No, he was up there with Dwalin in the no category, so were Gloin and Oin. Especially Gloin, if he were to assume that this was some sort of romantic overture. Why else take so much time, if not for such a reason?

Bilbo’s eyes found Bombur and Bifur,  the latter of which watched him with a clear gaze, and he felt his chest tighten and a rosy flush spread across his neck and up into his ears. Bifur had been watching him, and Bilbo had assumed it was only because he, himself, couldn’t stop watching the dwarf, but apparently there was more to it, or at least more had come from it.

Well aware that all eyes were still on him, Bilbo stood and walked over to the toy maker. He smiled at him sweetly and reached slowly out to take his hand. “Thank you,” he breathed softly, giving the hand a squeeze. “The bead and braid are both beautiful.”

The dwarf growled out something, and like it usually did, the voice sent a thrill through Bilbo of pleasure and fear. He gave him a small smile, feeling horrible that he had no idea what the dwarf had said.

“I think we can teach you the sign, laddie.” Bofur came up behind Bilbo. “Only right, what with you risking your neck for our home and my cousin being besotted with you.”

He blinked up Bofur and smiled then turned his attention back to Bifur, who tugged on his hand. Bilbo let go, thinking the dwarf wanted his hand back, but he was grabbed by the wrist and pulled down into Bifur’s lap. Strong arms wound around him and Bifur leveled a look on the rest of the company that could only be described as purely possessive. That shiver of pleasure and fear raced through the hobbit again as he leaned into the dwarf.

Bilbo knew that it would be difficult, being with Bifur. Beyond the communication problem, there was the mental instability, but he felt that Bifur was worth it. There was gentleness in the way the dwarf cradled him close, a care in the way he’d braided Bilbo’s hair and carved the bead. He’d protect and cherish Bilbo, no doubt, and if there was a certain air of danger about it all, well, the Took in him could most certainly live with that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These aren't beta read. So there might be some typos and such. Apologies.


	4. Passion - Bilbo/Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Passion - A dragon lights a fire in your heart. Will it consume you or give you energy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a loose interpretation of the word. Really, in hindsight, it might have fit 'desire' better, but I already have that one started, and I think that this came across well enough showing the passion Thorin feels for Bilbo. Or I hope so, at least.

Thorin had been truly obsessed with few things in life, none more so than seeing to the safety of his people and getting them home. The bit of sickness in the middle of all that didn’t count, as far as he was concerned; it was something few would ever dare mention, and he preferred it that way. Few things rankled him more than feeling shame, and he had it in excess, in regard to the incident. He owned up to what had happened, had made amends with words if nothing else, and that was all that needed to be done. There was no reason to dwell.

Beyond the mountain and his people, his family was also an obsession, seeing the boys taught well and kept safe. And then, there was the burglar. He set fire to Thorin in ways the dwarf king didn’t think possible. From the moment they’d met, Bilbo had been on his mind. In the beginning, Thorin liked to think it was entirely because he felt burdened by the small creature’s presence, but he knew that wasn’t it. In hindsight, he knew the moment he’d laid eyes on the soft curls, creamy skin, and sparkling eyes, the hobbit had grasped his attention and held to it as firmly as the most precious piece of treasure.

The farther they traveled, the more he came to realize his own obsession with the hobbit, his growing attraction. It served only to anger him more that someone that was supposed to be useful, and had yet to actually be, was proving to be so large a distraction. Of course, it was only fair to take his frustrations on the matter out on Bilbo, and in the moment he’d feel justified in making Bilbo twitch and cower. Then the guilt would hit him, and he’d get all the madder, at himself more than anything.

It had been a vicious cycle, one thing leading to another, to another, and back around again.

The king had been so relieved at seeing Bilbo safe after he’d foolishly saved Thorin’s life, the life of a dwarf that had been bordering on cruel to him from the offset and even so terribly more so when it came to the cursed stone. The visit had been brief, just long enough for Thorin to express how sorry he truly was, and then Oin was there working on his wounds, as was Thranduil, of all people, and Bilbo had been in the way.

With the battle won and his people coming home from the Blue Mountains, Thorin was free to give more attention to the one thing he simply _could **not**_ get off his mind; Bilbo. If only he could find his little burglar.

Against Oin’s strict instructions to stay in bed and rest, even though it had been nigh on three weeks since the battle, Thorin had looked over half the camp site at the base of the mountain, and even into some of the mountain itself. It was slow going, because of his injuries and the fact that so many people wanted to speak with him. He was more than relieved when Dwalin had started following him about and chasing the well-wishers and congratulators off.

He was beginning to fear Bilbo had decided to leave. They’d not had much time to speak since he’d lay nearly dying after the battle. When he asked after the hobbit, most weren’t sure where he was, or hadn’t seen him recently. The king’s search began to become frantic, and he was beginning to make plans on finding a pony and riding for the Shire, as reckless and ludicrous as it probably was, about like questing to kill a dragon and claim his birthright back.

Finally, Dwalin had to force him back to his tent to rest and eat. He was too tired and still too weak to put up much resistance, though he wished he wasn’t when he caught sight of Oin _and_ Balin standing just outside their king’s tent looking rather put out. It wasn’t good if the cousins were both wishing to give him an earful. They didn’t seem to care that he was now their king, not just an exiled prince. Ignoring them both, he went into his tent and sat down on his small bed, gripping the edge as the world spun around him.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” Oin told him as he walked in and over to check his wounds. “Was _nearly_ dying not enough for you?” He gave the king a sour look, which Thorin met with a steely gaze of his own.

“He’s looking for the hobbit,” Dwalin informed them, speaking loud enough for Oin to hear without his trumpet. He had come to stand just inside the tent, arms crossed, and his brother at his side.

Oin tutted and poked at the only wound he’d gotten uncovered, earning a grunt of pain and an annoyed growl from Thorin. “I saw him a little while ago. He was sitting with Kili.”

Thorin suddenly felt like an idiot. He’d not thought to look with his nephews. Of course Bilbo would be concerned about them. “Dwalin.”

“Aye, I’ll fetch him then.” The large dwarf lowered his arms and turned to leave the tent.

“It’s nearing time to start preparing the evening meal. If he’s not with the lads, check with Bombur,” Balin told his younger brother.

Dwalin grunted softly and left them.

They were all silent as Oin undressed all of Thorin’s injuries. “At least you didn’t pull any of the remaining stitching,” the healer said as he poked and prodded the king some more. “I have a tea I want you to drink and a poultice to put on those. For now, I want them to get a little air, so you may as well get comfortable for a bit.” He moved away from Thorin to gather the tea pot that sat beside the bed and carry it outside to make the tea.

Thorin sighed and shifted to get comfortable, wincing as this or that pulled or ached.

“You should have just asked someone to fetch the lad, Thorin.” Balin moved over to sit on the small stool that was beside the bed.

“Probably,” he answered, scowling at himself for not thinking about it properly. Most of the people he’d asked had not seen the hobbit, but he’d also not thought to ask those that knew Bilbo best and might know where to find him, those who Bilbo would interact with on a regular basis.

Balin chuckled. “Our burglar’s had you mixed up in so many knots since the moment you walked into his little hole it’s been rather amusing to observe.” The other dwarf smirked at him.

Thorin gave him an unamused scowl before sighing softly. “He has, hasn’t he?” He shook his head. “I just… need to speak with him. I need him to know, before he goes home.”

“Before you lose him,” Balin translated what Thorin meant. “Gandalf’s already left. Bilbo declined returning with him. One of the elves volunteered to see him home, when he is ready.”

Thorin looked up sharply. He was pleased that Bilbo had not left already, but he was equally upset that he still seemed to be planning on it as well as the fact that an _elf_ would be taking him. Before he could comment on the matter, however, Oin came back in with his tea. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of it.

“Don’t make that face, lad. You need to drink it. It doesn’t smell that bad.” He handed the cup over to the king.

Thorin grunted and downed the tea quickly, hissing as it scalded his tongue.

Oin looked thoroughly unimpressed with his haste and not at all sympathetic as he took the cup back and set it aside. “A king should know patience,” he told him before turning to pick up a jar with a pale green paste inside. He began to smear it over the wounds, touch gentler than he looked to be capable of. It took him several minutes to get them all, and he left some to the open air while covering the worst of them.

Just as Oin was finishing up, the tent was opened by a large tattooed hand and Bilbo was ushered through, Dwalin following after him. Thorin paid no more mind to the healer or Balin, or even Dwalin, as his eyes landed on the hobbit. There he was, well and whole, looking sheepish and uncertain as he took hesitant steps toward the king. Thorin frowned.

“I will not bite, Master Baggins, lest it be Oin for forcing his horrid tea upon me.” He offered a small smile to the hobbit, who looked surprised at his joke.

Oin huffed, standing close enough to have heard him in the relative quiet of the tent. “I’ll make you drink a pint more this moment if you don’t stop complaining about it,” he grumbled before stalking out of the tent.

Balin stood and followed after him, pulling Dwalin behind him. Thorin was both grateful for the privacy but also somewhat intimidated, and didn’t that ruffle his feathers. It was _Bilbo_. He had nothing to fear from the hobbit, he hoped.

Bilbo shuffled his feet a moment then walked over to sit where Balin had been. “You’re feeling well?” He asked.

“Aye.” Thorin gave a small nod. “You fare well?” He looked him over subtly, not seeing any lasting injury.

“The mithril coat saved me from anything bad.” He gave a faint smile.

“Good.” Thorin was relieved by that. “I would have had you not injured at all.” He wished he could think of something clever to say, some way to tell Bilbo how he was feeling, thinking.

Bilbo looked up at him, worrying his lower lip between his even, white teeth. “Dwalin said you wore yourself out looking for me. I apologize for not coming to see you. I did not think… I mean…”

“I understand,” Thorin cut him off, knowing what it was he thought. “It is alright, Bilbo. I do not fault you, but I also wished to see you. There is much I would say, if but I knew the words.” He offered a faint smile of his own and they lapsed into silence for several minutes. Finally, once question could not stay unanswered. “Will you be leaving us for the Shire?”

“I… can’t stay gone forever. There’s my belongings and Bag End to consider.” He looked down at his feet. “But… I do not wish to leave the company, either. I have grown quite fond of everyone, and the Shire is so terribly far from Erebor.”

“I would have you stay.” Thorin looked at him. “I know you must go back, but I would have you return, here, to the mountain, to your friends… to me.” His voice was but a bare whisper as he added the last.

Bilbo looked up, startled. “To you?” His own voice was soft, hesitant.

“Aye, burglar, to me. I would have you, however you would allow me, be it friend or… or something more.” He swallowed, not use to these sorts of things. He was baring his very soul to the hobbit, and it was frightening, more so than any battle.

The hobbit sat silent, twitching slightly and clasping his hands together off and on. When he finally responded, it was to stand so suddenly, Thorin jerked back in surprise and more than half expected Bilbo to flee from him. Instead, he found himself with a hobbit between his knees and chapped yet soft lips pressed against his own.

It was like a spark to spilled oil. Thorin felt emotion race through his body but a split second before he pulled Bilbo tight to him and deepened the kiss, pouring pent up desire, frustration, fear, and joy into the kiss. He heard Bilbo squeak and pull back and it was all he could do to control himself and allow the hobbit to do so.

Flushed and dazed, Bilbo had scarcely looked more arousing. Thorin cupped his soft cheek in one rough, worn hand and grazed his thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. “You’ve no idea how badly I desire you, Bilbo. So much so it frightens me, and I have oft turned that fear against you cruelly.”

Bilbo laid a hand over the one on his cheek and nuzzled into the king’s palm. “If you will be patient with me, my king, I will give you everything you desire, but I was a respectable hobbit, once upon a time, and I am not familiar with these sorts of things. You will need to ease me into it, teach me.”

Thorin’s brain quite literally stopped for a moment. He knew he didn’t breathe, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart had skipped a beat or two as well. “You’ve never… with no one? Anything?”

“No. I never had interest. Oh, sure, when I was a wee lad, I’d chase the girls, because that’s what all wee lads were supposed to do. I thought it was just a game until I was older, and then they were fussy things that were too much trouble. The lads weren’t much better. So, I knew it would be a bachelor’s life for me. At least until thirteen dwarves wound up on my doorstep. All of them so strong and lively and… well…” He flushed darker than he had been. “In their own way, all of them are attractive, and don’t think I didn’t take a nice look at each while I was trying to save my mother’s china. And then you walked in, all dark and mysterious and broody. I’m fairly sure I’d never seen anything so breathtaking in my life, at least until you opened your mouth.”

Thorin groaned, remembering that moment. His eyes had locked onto Bilbo’s hair and eyes, comparing them to gems and metals in his mind, and he’d had to do something, anything, to keep from making an utter fool of himself. “You are far from a grocer, my burglar.” He gave him a chaste kiss. “And there are no words to describe how much I desire you, and not just for your comely looks.” He didn’t think that there was any way for his passion, his need for Bilbo to grow, but learning that no other had ever touched the hobbit… He wanted to spirit Bilbo away, deep into the mountain, and keep him from all others.

The king knew that Bilbo would sooner slit Thorin’s throat than allow that.

Flushed still, it didn’t seem the hobbit could stop; Bilbo leaned in and kissed the king. “I thank you for realizing.”

“I realize a great many things, none more so than how terribly I want you. I have not felt passion like this for another ever before, but I will be patient, as you require. I think things will be all the better, in the end, for it.” He rested his forehead to Bilbo’s. “For now, though, I fear that Oin’s horrid tea is making me drowsy. I should rest. You… will not disappear on me?” He felt weak for having to ask, but he had to know.

“No. I might be helping Bombur or looking in on your nephews, but I will not leave you.” He smiled at Thorin before pulling away to help him to lie down. “And, I will sit with you until you sleep.”

The king nodded and smiled, reclining on his bed and getting comfortable. He took Bilbo’s hand as the hobbit sat back on the stool, holding it in his own as he felt sleep begin to claim him, and thinking of all he planned to do to and share with his hobbit, feeling rejuvenated as he thought of the future for them, and for all of his people.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next... Recollection - Bilbo/Nori.


	5. Recollection - Bilbo/Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon is lying by the fire spinning ancient tales. Would remembering your stories add richness to your life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. This one ran away with me. It's quite a bit longer than the rest. 
> 
> A large part of the plot was based off the following image:
> 
> [Nori and Bombur in Rivendell](http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20121219113733/lotr/images/c/cb/Bombur_in_Rivendell.PNG)
> 
> I know that, in the movie, Nori is actually standing when Bombur goes down, but this imagine left me with a 'what if' thought.

Balin was very good at telling stories. Through him, Bilbo learned a great deal about Erebor, Ered Luin, the line of Durin’s history, and many of the their companions. He had many tales of Dwalin’s youth, these he seemed to take great pleasure in telling simply to embarrass his brother, and tales of himself over the years, as well as of Oin and Gloin throughout their youth and more recently as well. Then were the stories of Thorin and his nephews. On the others, he only knew a little, just basic information that left him feeling safe enough to trust them on the journey, and of them, he knew Dori and Ori, especially, best.

Beyond what he learned from Balin, Gloin was happy to tell the entire company, over and over, about his handsome wife and strapping boy. Like all else he learned, Bilbo filed it away as precious information, knowledge about those he traveled with and now called friend. He also learned more of Oin, Balin, and Dwalin. Gloin, like Balin, sought to embarrass his kin.

Bombur and Bofur were happy to talk about their little family. He learned about many things from Bombur as a babe and dwarfling to Bifur having a strong hand in raising them. Even the oldest of the three occasionally added to the tales with dwarvish growls and gestures.

Of the last three dwarves, Ori was always happy to talk, and Bilbo found himself finally with someone who wanted to hear _his_ stories. The two spent many a day plodding along sharing one tale or another, trading them back and forth as one story reminded the other of something. On occasion, because Ori had taken such an interest, Dori would join in as well.

Dori liked to talk about their mother and father, as well as tell embarrassing stories of Ori as a young dwarfling. It was apparently a dwarf habit to embarrass one another as much as possible. It didn’t go unnoticed that he never told tales of Nori, and while Ori might on occasion, though never anything overly insightful, he never did so when Dori joined them.

Bilbo knew both of them cared for their brother. He found it quite curious, though, that they would share laughs over so many anecdotes of their lives, and always Nori was missing from the stories. It pained Bilbo, somewhat, for all of them. He felt sorry for Nori missing out on so much, but he also knew that it very well could have been the dwarf’s choice to not be around his brothers. He also felt sorry for Dori and Ori, for having that missing part of them not there for so much.

Knowing so much about everyone else, and having these thoughts on his mind, it was only natural that his attention was often drawn to the one dwarf he knew next to nothing about. There was plenty he had surmised, particularly from scathing comments tossed about by Dwalin and disapproving sad looks cast by Dori. But, the hobbit knew there had to be more to it. He just had to figure out how to approach the dwarf.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of Nori. No, he seemed like a nice enough chap. But, there was an air of mystery about him, and the hobbit had no idea how to break the ice. So he watched, waiting for something, anything he could use to start up a conversation. He sorely doubted a standard ‘nice weather we’re having’ would work as it did for hobbits, and he just _knew_ he couldn’t open with questions as he did with Balin, Bofur, and Ori.

He puzzled over it for several days, but eventually his mind was preoccupied with surviving trolls and orcs. Rivendell was a nice reprieve from the sudden danger they’d found themselves in. So happy to be safe, Bilbo forgot about his curiosity and enjoyed the comforts while he could.

Sitting to have a smoke, the hobbit dug through his pack for his pipe and leaf. He couldn’t find them anywhere. He searched through _twice_ more before tossing his pack aside somewhat petulantly and sitting down dejectedly. He’d been looking forward to a good smoke all through his bath and dinner. He didn’t’ know why, but he almost felt like crying over something so silly.

It never occurred to him to wonder _where_ the missing items were. With all the running and loss of the ponies, he could have simply lost them. They were gone, that’s all that mattered.

With nothing to smoke, he sat for a few minutes just staring at everything around him and watching the dwarves make merry. He sighed heavily, shifting himself as he thought about going to his room to rest. He was sharing with Gandalf, though he doubted the wizard would be using the room. Just as he was about to stand, though, a hand came from nowhere and rested gently on his shoulder. He jerked and looked up, startled.

As silent as the person had been, he expected to see an elf. Instead, Nori looked down at him with a small smirk. “Uh…” Bilbo glanced over at the others. He’d have sworn Nori had been with them, at least before Bombur had broken the table… or was it a bench? Bilbo was pretty certain it was a table, but with tall folk, you never knew. Nori had been with them before Bombur had broken whatever piece of furniture he’d been sitting on.

Nori sat down beside him and pulled out his own pipe, packing it with a dark, black looking leaf. Bilbo considered getting up and leaving, but it would have been rude. The dwarf had approached for some reason.

Once his pip was lit and he’d taken a few puffs, Nori offered it over to the hobbit. “Noticed you couldn’t find yours.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to say. It was terribly nice of the dwarf to share, and to notice his loss. “Thank you, Mister Nori.” He smiled at the dwarf.

Nori gave a nod and turned his gaze to the others. “Are you wishing you hadn’t raced after us yet, Mister Baggins?”

Bilbo puffed on the pipe, coughing as the rather acrid smoke filled rolled across his tongue. He’d had some of the dwarvish leaf, but this was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Nori considered good leaf, though, and it really wasn’t the matter at hand.

He considered the question, little coughs escaping him as he continued to give small puffs at the pipe. There were plenty of reasons to say yes, so he had to weight the reasons for no. In the end, really, it was a simple answer. “No,” he said, passing the pipe back to the smirking dwarf who was patting him on the back lightly, small coughs still escaping the hobbit. How did Nori smoke that stuff. Still, he felt like he was calming down nicely, and he couldn’t fault that. He reasoned if you were accustomed to it, the leaf would be quite nice.

“Maybe you’re as mad as the rest of us, then.” He took the pipe and smoked at it a few times.

Bilbo cleared his throat and paused before continuing when it seemed the coughs were done. “I can never regret having met all of you. I’ve learned so much, not just about the company but about the world. I might not like some of the things I’ve seen, or the danger, but I would not change it.” He watched as the others joked and laughed and sang songs. “I can’t say I won’t change my mind, either, because who knows what the road ahead holds.”

Nori looked at him, almost warily. “Maybe you will. Maybe we’ll change it for you. We’re not gentle folk, and there is much of the journey still ahead.” He drew in another lungful of smoke, releasing it slowly. “But, for what it’s worth, I think we’re better for knowing _you_ , Mister Baggins. I’ve seen the way my brother lights up when he’s talking to you, the way Kili and Fili flock to you, how Bofur jokes with you. You’ve brought something to their lives. I can’t say how much it pleases me to see Ori happy, and if you can do that, be his friend and make him smile, then I can never say I’m sorry you came along, even if I hold no hope in our success.”

That was sad, Bilbo thought, that he had no hope. Looking at him, he felt Nori wasn’t just lacking hope in the quest but in everything else, too. “Why did you come along?”

The pipe was passed back to Bilbo before Nori reached out to rub at his left ankle, going so far as to pull off his boot  and sock so as to massage at ankle and foot. “I didn’t have any choice. Dori and Ori were set to go, and I wasn’t about to let them do something this insane without me. I wasn’t going to be missed back at Ered Luin. Figure they were more than happy to see the backside of me and hope I die so as I never haunt their doorstep again.”

“How could they disfavor you so?” Bilbo frowned, holding the pipe absently as his attention focused on the dwarf. He didn’t like the thought of Nori having nowhere to go. He knew that if the quest failed, at least the others could return to the Blue Mountains, even if it was in shame. It sounded like Nori couldn’t, really. If it came to that, if they survived and failed, he would offer him a home. The rest of the Shire might not like it, but sod it all, a person deserved a home; somewhere they could go no matter what.

Nori gave a bitter laugh. “I’m not the strictly honest sort. Had my fingers in too many pies, I guess.” He shook his head. “Just as well. If this works out, I’ll be rich. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll be dead. Either way, my troubles will be over.” The dwarf didn’t sound convinced, and Bilbo thought it was a rather sad outlook on things.

“Gold can’t solve the troubles inside.” Bilbo turned the pipe in his hand, staring at it though he didn’t truly see it. “You’re a good man, Mister Nori. I can see that in the way you are with Ori and Dori.”

The dwarf gave another small, bitter laugh, and the sound was like a knife in the chest. Bilbo looked up at him, trying to read his expression, but Nori was far too interested in his foot and ankle. The hobbit didn’t know how anyone could have such a low opinion of themselves as he was beginning to suspect Nori did.

He reached out slowly and placed a hand on the dwarf’s arm, noticing then, as Nori tensed as though not use to physical contact, that there was a bruise forming on the other’s foot and ankle. “You’re hurt,” he said, setting the pipe in his other hand aside to kneel beside the dwarf. His thoughts on convincing Nori of his worth shoved aside by his concern for the injury.

“It’s nothing, just a bit of a bruise.” He gave Bilbo a forced smile that the hobbit did not appreciate.

“Horse feathers.” He pushed the dwarf’s hands away and began to gently prod along the ankle, noticing the wince Nori tried to hide when he came near the top of his foot. “What happened? I should get Oin.” He moved to get up and fetch the older dwarf.

“Leave him alone to enjoy his evening.” Nori wrapped a strong hand around Bilbo’s wrist, and the hobbit had no doubt that the dwarf could easily harm him, if he felt he needed to, or at the very least, keep him in place. He didn’t know if Nori was as strong as Dori, he didn’t know if anyone was, but he knew that Nori was no doubt strong. Really, compared to a hobbit, all of the dwarves were.

He mustered up a pretty fierce scowl and looked the dwarf in the eye. “Then you will let me see to this, or I’ll kick up such a fuss that no doubt Dori and Ori will come to see what is going on and I _know_ they’ll make you let Oin see to it.”

The amused laugh he received wasn’t what he was expecting as response. He frowned at it, thinking that Nori wasn’t taking him seriously. Bilbo was just working up a good tirade when Nori gave a nod. “Alright, Mister Baggins, you win, but not here. Grab up the pipe and we’ll go to your room.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure why they had to go to _his_ room until he remembered that Dori and Ori would be sharing Nori’s. Grabbing up the pipe and his bag, he followed after the dwarf, who carried his boot and sock in hand. There was barely a limp, and had he not been looking for it, Bilbo didn’t think he would have noticed. It was easily hidden in the mismatched gait created by wearing only one boot.

As soon as they were behind closed door, Nori lifted his sore limb and hopped to the bed on his good leg. Bilbo smiled a little to himself at it. Dwarves were far too stubborn. “I could have helped you.”

“I made it.” Nor smirked at him before pulling himself up on the bed to sit.

“That’s not the point.” Bilbo huffed, making his way over to the dwarf before climbing up on a stool the elves had given him to make it easier to get in and out of the bed. “Let me see your ankle.” He gave Nori a pointed look, holding out a hand for the injured limb instead of picking it up himself.

Having a dwarf foot in his hand was strange. Their boots were so large and clunky looking, yet their feet were quite small. Not as delicate as an elf’s, he was sure, but by far smaller than any hobbit foot. He couldn’t help but caress it in curiosity. The foot twitched and Nori made a strange sound that caused Bilbo to pause and look up at him. “Tickles,” Nori told him.

Hobbit feet were not so sensitive, usually, to be ticklish. He looked back down, taking another moment to marvel over the small, relatively hairless foot. Odd, really, how little hair was on it considering how hairy dwarves seemed to be in general. He couldn’t help but find the appendage rather interesting.

But, he had a job to do. Lightly, he ran his fingers over the bruised skin, trying to be as gentle as possible. “It doesn’t feel broken. Your boot probably saved you from that.” Dwarven boots, from what he could tell, where very sturdy. “Still, it’s starting to swell. I could ask Lord Elrond…”

“No,” Nori cut him off rather quickly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be walking on it and aggravating it, hiding the fact that you’re injured and in pain. You’ll be a liability.” Bilbo scowled at him. Really, the stubbornness of these dwarrows was without end. “I’ll have to inform Thorin.”

Nori sighed and crossed his arms. “Oin makes an ointment… I think I know what he uses. If I give you a list, can you get the items and make it? Keep it all quiet like?”

Bilbo really didn’t understand Nori’s persistence that no one know he was hurt. It was silly. He didn’t think he’d ever fully understand dwarves. Was he afraid he’d appear weak, a burden? “Alright. I won’t let the company know you’re injured.” He rolled his eyes when Nori stared at him, as if he wasn’t sure he could believe him. “I promise, Mister Nori.”

Finally, Nori gave a nod. “Get me a piece of parchment and a quill.”

Bilbo went to his pack and came back with parchment and a small piece of charcoal. It’d work well enough to write with. Nori smiled at the sight, pleased for whatever reason that Bilbo had charcoal instead of a quill and ink. The dwarf didn’t say anything, though, and quickly wrote out a short list. “This is it?” Bilbo asked him.

A nod from Nori had him turning for the door. “Keep that foot elevated until I return.” Bilbo didn’t look to see if he listened, slipping out the door and going to find Gandalf or Lord Elrond, if he was lucky, or the nice Lindir who had greeted them earlier.

He couldn’t seem to locate any of them, and was getting a bit frustrated when two elves came across him. They looked at him and smiled in a way that immediately made him think of Fili and Kili, and he wondered if he shouldn’t turn and go the other way. He was on an important task and didn’t have time for mischief.

“You must be Mister Baggins.” The one on the right gave a smile and a small bow.

The one on the left did as his companion, though his smile was more of a grin. “Ada has told us about you. Allow me to introduce us. I am Elrohir, and this is Elladan.”

Bilbo blinked up at them. He knew that ‘ada’ meant father, and he pondered only a moment who they meant. It was rather obvious that they favored Elrond, and their names were quite similar. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He gave a short bow. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your father is?” He asked, hopeful.

The one on the right, Elladan he reminded himself, gave a small shake to his head. “I am afraid he is in council with Mithrandir and Thorin Oakenshield. Is there something we can assist you with, little one?”

The hobbit bit back a huff at being called little. He was certain they didn’t mean anything by it the way Men did when they addressed hobbits as ‘little’ and ‘halflings.’ “I am in need of some items. One of my companions has hurt his ankle, you see…”

Elrohir easily took the piece of parchment from his fingers and glanced over it. “These are easy to come by, little one, but we might have something better suited in the healing house. If your friend would come there…” He trailed off when Bilbo shook his head.

“He’s impossibly stubborn, not that, that should come as a surprise. I’ve found it’s just how dwarves are. He doesn’t want to let the rest of the company know he’s injured. I can’t for the life of me figure out why, maybe because his older brother is a smotherer and his little brother is a worrier.” He sighed. “If he knew I was talking to you about it… They really are quite impossible creatures, dwarves,” he said, with no lack of fondness to his tone.

Elladan laughed. “Well, let us walk you there, and you can tell us what sort of injury he has. Then, you can treat him yourself and we need not be involved. It _is_ only a minor ailment?”

“No more than a sprained ankle, if that serious.” He gave a nod. “I’d much appreciate the help.” He smiled up at them.

Elrohir rested a hand on his shoulder and walked him toward the healing house. Bilbo felt very small, between the two elves, but he also felt safe and welcome with them. He’d been around Men a time or two, in Bree, and he wasn’t overly fond of them. They never noticed hobbits, really, and often would tread right on you if you weren’t careful. Elves, though, seemed quite different, far more kind and gentle, much more to a hobbit’s liking.

The healing house was a beautiful, open area with beds and shelves of various things. Elladan pulled out a chair and helped Bilbo onto it before sitting with his brother. “So, tell us, Mister Baggins, what your friend’s injury is like.”

The hobbit described the bruise and, sheepishly, how the injury was caused. Neither elf made comment about the broken furniture for a time, their eyes dancing in amusement as they chuckled softly. “Well, I can’t say how ada will feel about the table, but I’m certain it was no great loss and is easily replaced.” Elrohir patted Bilbo on the shoulder once he was finished before standing and going to the vials on the shelves nearby. “I think this will work well. It should help with the swelling, ease any pain, and encourage the trauma to heal. The bruise might grow darker, as the blood in the tissue is drawn toward the surface of the skin, but it shouldn’t be any more painful for it.” The elf handed the bottle to Bilbo as well as two rolls of bandages. “You can take this with you, we have more. It should be put on the area for a few days, twice if possible. I know it will be unlikely, but it would be best if he was off the foot as well, and kept it elevated. The more walking he does, the longer it will take to heal.”

Bilbo snorted. “I’d have to tie him down, and then I think he’d just get himself loose. He’s a sly one is Nori.” He smiled. “Thank you, both, for your help.” He cradled the glass vial to his chest and shoved the bandages into his pocket.

“Think nothing of it, little one.” Elladan smiled. “I hope we get to see you again, before you depart. Now, let us walk you back. I’ve no doubt you might get lost if we don’t.” His smile turned to a grin. “And, I’m sure you’re eager to see to your friend.”

The hobbit gave a nod and walked back the way they’d come, again with the elves on either side of him. They went so far as to walk him to his door, and he had to ignore the looks, and scowls in Thorin and Dwalin’s case, as they passed the company. Gandalf was still not with them, and he hoped the wizard hadn’t gone to their room. He imagined finding Nori in Bilbo’s bed might have made the wizard ponder, and pondering wizards weren’t a good thing, he felt. Gandalf took far too much amusement at the expense of others, at times.

Elladan and Elrohir bowed and left him, again telling him that they looked forward to speaking to him another time, before they walked off and he slipped back into the room. He sighed in relief that Gandalf was not present and made his way over to the bed.

Nori eyed him and the vial in his hand. “That isn’t what I told you to make.”

“Of course it isn’t. Did you think I had the time?” Bilbo wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, so that wasn’t really a reasonable response. “I found the healing house, and they have all sorts of things in there.” He smiled.

The dwarf didn’t look pleased. “I told you not to…”

“Must you be so pigheaded?” Bilbo snapped at him. “I am _trying_ to help you, stop being ungrateful.” He gave Nori a firm look. “Do you purposely treat everyone with suspicion? It’s no wonder Ori and Dori never have stories of you, if you’re like this with them as well,” he said, without thinking.

He regretted it the moment it left his lips and cringed when Nori went still. Instead of looking up at the dwarf, he poured some of the fluid in the vial into his hand and began to gently rub it into Nori’s ankle, nearly losing the vial and spilling it all over when the dwarf suddenly pulled his foot away from him, rather violently in Bilbo’s opinion. He quickly set the bottle aside and reached for the dwarf’s leg. “Stop that!”

“I think you’ve helped enough, _halfling_.” Nori moved away from him and to get off the bed.

Bilbo sighed; clearly he was going about this wrong. He shouldn’t let Nori frustrate him so, and he had been out of line. “Let me help. Please, Nori, I’m sorry.” He rested a gentle hand on the dwarf’s knee, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

Nori was scowling at him, but Bilbo could see something else deep in his eyes. It wasn’t anger or pain. It was resignation. The copper haired dwarf was upset not because Bilbo dared say such a thing, but because _he_ felt the words were true. “Oh, Nori,” he said softly, giving a little shake of his head.

“Leave it,” Nori growled at him, moving to get off the bed, stubborn to the last.

“No, I won’t leave it.” He put his hand on the center of the dwarf’s chest, standing firm in front of him even though he knew it wouldn’t take much effort for Nori to shove him aside. “Lay your stubborn hide down and let me help you, dammit!”

Nori looked as startled as Bilbo at the expletive. The hobbit could feel his face flush and he hastened to apologize. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

The dwarf gave a soft laugh. “I was beginning to wonder if hobbits knew how to curse, Mister Baggins, beyond ‘horse feathers.’” Nori sighed and eased himself back down on the bed.

“Yes, well, it’s not polite to go around using such vulgar language as that.” He reached again for the bottle of elixir, pouring some onto his palm again to sooth into the bruised skin of Nori’s ankle and foot.

“Vulgar?” Nori blinked at him before having a mighty laugh.

Bilbo felt his face flush again. “Yes, vulgar.” He rolled his eyes at the dwarf. “It is very disrespectful language.”

The snort he received didn’t surprise him. “You worry about respectability more than _Dori_. I didn’t think that was possible.” He shook his head. “What does respect get you, really? People will still whisper behind your back, and stab you in it, too.”

Taking a roll bandages out of his pocket, Bilbo began to gently wrap Nori’s ankle. The dwarf was speaking from experience that much was clear. It hurt Bilbo to know that Nori had so little faith in the world, so much distrust in his heart. “The only respect I worry about is that of those important to me.”

“And what would you do, gentlehobbit, if you knew your own family disrespected you?”

Bilbo looked up sharply. “You think your brothers don’t respect you?” How could he believe that?

“I know Dori doesn’t respect me, Mister Baggins. He’s _told_ me as much.” He sighed, sitting up when Bilbo began looking for something to cut the bandage with, a knife sliding out of his sleeve and cutting through it cleanly. The knife disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “I’m a thief, always in trouble with the law. He doesn’t want me around Ori, bad influence and all, doesn’t like me to come home.”

“Is thieving more important than your brothers?” He closed the vial and carried it and the bandages over to his pack, sliding them inside for safe keeping.

“Of course not!” And though his back was turned, Bilbo knew he had to be glaring at the hobbit.

Turning around, he gave him a smile. “Then why do you do it?” He walked back over to the bed, double checking the bandage. He moved from the stool to the bed, resting the foot in his lap.

Nori sighed and tossed an arm over his eyes. “At first, because I had no choice. Ori was little and we didn’t have any money. The move to Ered Luin was hard on us, on all of us, and most of the dwarves had little to nothing except what they could get working for Men. Men are not kind, more often than not, to dwarves. It was easy enough, though, to take what I had to so that Ori and Dori would have food in their bellies and clothes on their backs.”

“And now?” Bilbo caressed the foot in his lap unconsciously. “They seem well enough off.”

“They are. Ori’s apprenticed and Dori has his shop. They make a good living for themselves, but I had to do things so they could get there. I had debts to pay back, favors to return. I couldn’t just walk away from the life I’d chosen for myself.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say. It sounded awful, having to keep up a life of crime just because he’d had to start one for his family. He couldn’t imagine having no other options to where that was what Nori had to do, but he couldn’t judge him either, not when it had been for his brothers he’d done things. What wouldn’t anyone do for those they loved? “So I was right, before,” he spoke softly.

When he didn’t elaborate, Nori lifted his arm off one eye and looked at him. “Right about what?”

“You being a good man.” He ran a finger along Nori’s toes.

Nori snorted and lowered his arm back down. “I don’t know how you could say that.”

“What you’ve done, you’ve done out of love. Maybe not the things you do now, but that’s how you got started. No one can fault you for taking care of your family.” Bilbo hated that Nori had such a low opinion of himself.

“I enjoy it, you know. The thrill of the heist, of being chased and not being caught, the way it makes my blood pump and my mind race.”

Bilbo considered that. “I suppose it’s not all that different than someone enjoying the way ale makes them feel, or mushrooms or gambling.” The hobbit watched the dwarf. He’d wanted to get to know Nori, had wanted to hear his stories. This was far different than a humorous tale or an emotional story, but he felt he was learning more from it as well. He couldn’t help but wonder if Nori had ever told anyone else these things.

The dwarf was quiet, for long enough Bilbo wondered if he’d fallen asleep, before finally sitting up suddenly. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, Gandalf chose that moment to come through the door, arching a brow at them, eyes twinkling and a small smile on his face.

Nori pulled away from Bilbo and hopped off the bed, landing easily on his good leg. “Thank you for your help, Mister Baggins. If you’d not worry Dori and Ori with this…” He looked up at Gandalf, giving the wizard a hard stare.

“Uh,” Bilbo tried to gather his bearings. “You’re welcome, Mister Nori. Try not to walk on it too much and keep it elevated. It’ll heal faster.”

Gandalf watched them silently, gaze curious and attentive.

The dwarf gave a nod, standing on one leg to pull on his sock and boot before reaching for the pipe Bilbo had left beside them. “Good night, Mister Baggins, Mister Gandalf.” He made a quick exit, not looking back at them.

“My, my. What was all that about?” Gandalf asked as he moved to sit on a chair near the window.

Bilbo sighed. “I was just helping him with his ankle.” He used the stool to get off the bed, not as graceful on both of his legs as Nori was on just one.

“I hope he’s not too injured. We won’t be in the valley long.” He pulled out his pipe and lit it with the tip of his finger.

“It’s nothing serious, just a bruise.” Bilbo began to get himself ready to turn in, thinking over everything that Nori had told him.

Gandalf hummed but didn’t speak of it again.

It would be a day and a half before he got to speak with Nori again. They’d made their way from Rivendell the dawn after the dwarf had been hurt, and Bilbo had not had a chance to put the elixir on it again. Thorin was pushing them hard, and they’d sat down for a break before going into the Misty Mountains. Bilbo took his pack and walked over to where Nori was sharpening one of his knives. He sat down beside him silently, clearing his throat when Nori didn’t pay him any attention.

“What is it, Mister Baggins?” He asked, looking up from his knife.

“Your ankle; it needs tended again.” Bilbo looked pointedly at the foot that was at least resting up on a small rock instead of on the ground next to its mate.

“It’s fine, Mister Baggins.” He glanced around at the others before looking back to the hobbit pointedly.

Bilbo sighed. “It has to be hurting you. We’ve been on our feet but for short moments since we left Rivendell.”

Nori shook his head. “It’s fine.” He slid away his knife and stood up. “We’ll be moving on soon, you should worry about resting and not my foot.” The dwarf walked away and over to his brothers.

The hobbit knew he could mention the injury, inform Dori or Oin about it, or even Thorin, though he had little faith that Thorin would care. But, he didn’t. He moved over to sit by Bofur and share in the dwarf’s pipe before they had to move again.

He wouldn’t have another chance to speak to Nori until after they were at the base of the Carrock.

* * *

As they made camp at the base of the Carrock, Nori looked around at the others, eyes searching for one soul in particular. He could still remember the goblins grabbing them and pulling them along, seeing the fear in Bilbo’s eyes as he was left behind, and feeling the twist in his gut when they made it out of the mountain and everyone realized the hobbit was gone. It had come as a relief to see him standing there, alive and well, and he found he wasn’t really that concerned with the how of it.

Sore from the fall and the goblin king, Nori had taken a half step toward the hobbit, favoring his ankle, a moment before they’d had to flee from the wargs. He was too preoccupied with the fact his brothers were about to fall to their deaths to truly notice Bilbo risking his life for a man not his king, not even his friend. In hindsight, he couldn’t reason why Bilbo had done it.

Nori knew that any one of them would have done so; Thorin was going to be king under the mountain, they had a duty to him, an oath. Bilbo was but a hobbit, and the rogue realized it wouldn’t have mattered which of them had been laying there, Bilbo would have sacrificed himself for any of them. That was the capacity of the hobbit’s heart.

Now that they were far from the orcs, he felt the need to speak to Bilbo. He’d not been overly warm to him the last time the hobbit had sought him out, and he needed to set that right. Limping along, he made his way over to where Bilbo stood with Bofur, the two talking quietly. He gave the other dwarf a nod before turning his eyes to the hobbit. “Mister Baggins, I was wondering if I could prevail upon you.”

Bilbo seemed startled but finally gave a nod and walked away with him, stepping under Nori’s arm when he noticed him limping. “I lost my bag…” He sounded apologetic.

“It’s alright. I’ll survive without your elvish elixir.” He took the first opportunity of a nice sized boulder to sit down on. “I wanted to apologize, for being cool to you the last time you offered help.” He bent down, wincing as his ribs and back ached, pulling off his boot.

“I know a little about herbs. I can look around, see if there’s anything here I could use… Oin’s busy with Thorin and there are so many of you hurt. I’d like to help, if I can.” He nibbled on his lip and looked so cute that Nori had to smile.

“Are _you_ hurt, Mister Baggins? I lost sight of you when the goblins pulled us away. I know Gandalf said hobbits could go unseen when they wanted, but I’d never seen the like of that.” He looked the hobbit over. He didn’t see anything wrong with him, other than a few scrapes, but the dirt they were all covered in might have been hiding something.

“I’m fine.” He gave a small shrug, moving to kneel beside Nori’s feet. He gentle removed Nori’s sock and undid the bandage he’d put on in Rivendell. “Does it hurt terribly?” The hobbit gently ran his fingers over the foot, and Nori contained a twitch. The caresses had been distracting in Rivendell and were no less so at that moment.

“No more so than my ribs.” He gave Bilbo a smile.

“Your ribs?” Bilbo looked up, face somewhat distressed. “I’ll go look for something to help, at least for a tea, if nothing else.” The hobbit was there one moment and gone the next, bustling off into the bushes and weeds.

Nori shook his head and tried to relax, closing his eyes and resting while he had the chance. As he shifted on rock, he reached into his pocket for his pipe and had to smirk as his fingers brushed over the second one hidden in his pocket. Sometime soon, he’d have to get that back to its owner, but for the moment, he’d hold onto it a little longer.

* * *

Bilbo was sitting outside of Beorn’s watching the bees and birds move about when he felt someone sit down beside him. Glancing over, he smiled at Nori. “How are you feeling?” He asked the dwarf, a little surprised he’d been sought out but not unhappy about it.

“I’m healing fine. The bruising’s gone down and I can walk without much pain.” Nori pulled out his pipe and set about packing it with his black leaf. Bilbo didn’t know how he smoked, truly. The once had been more than enough for him.

He hummed softly and leaned back against the tree behind him. “I’m glad.” He smiled at the dwarf. “I was worried.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mister Baggins. Dwarves are hardy folk. Take more than Bombur’s girth to do me much damage, especially when the Goblin King’s didn’t kill me.” He smiled at him. “I have something of yours, I thought you might like back.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Bilbo’s pipe and weed.

The hobbit blinked at him. He’d not seen it since before Rivendell. “How did you… You stole my pipe?” He frowned at him, not sure what to think.

“Aye.” Nori grinned, unashamed. “You’d been staring at me for days, and I figured it’d be a good conversation started.”

“Stealing my pipe was your way of starting a conversation?” He asked, incredulous. What had he been thinking?

“No, ‘ _finding’_ it and returning it were my way of starting a conversation.” He continued to grin as he lit his pipe.

Bilbo stared at his pipe and leaf. In a way, he was glad Nori _had_ taken them. They’d survived passed the goblin cave when nothing else in his bag had. On the other hand, Nori had stolen from him. The hobbit knew it hadn’t been more than a prank, really, but it was still a bit upsetting.

“At the time, Mister Baggins, I wasn’t too worried about insulting you.” Nori watched him. “But, now that I know you a bit better… Well… I apologize, but don’t go spreading the word that I have.” He pointed the tip of his piped at Bilbo in warning.

The hobbit couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright. I won’t tell a soul. Thank you, for returning it and the leaf.” He eyed Nori’s pipe. “I’m not sure I’d survive trying your leaf again.”

Nori laughed. “It’s an acquired taste, to be sure.” He stuck his pipe in his mouth and leaned back beside Bilbo.

Opening his leaf, Bilbo put some in his pipe then held the pipe out for Nori to light for him. The dwarf knocked an ember from his own over into Bilbo’s, and the hobbit grinned as he took a good long breath of Longbottom leaf. Oh how he’d missed it, and having a nice smoke of it made his toes curl in delight.

“Good stuff then?” Nori asked him, looking speculative.

Bilbo held his pipe out and let the dwarf sample the hobbit leaf before sticking it back in his mouth and having himself another smoke. “It’s the best, though I don’t mind me some Old Toby as well.”

Nori chuckled. “Kind of light, if you ask me.”

The hobbit laughed. “After tasting that vile stuff you smoke, I’ve no doubt it is.” He took another throat full of smoke and blew out a few rings. “It’s nice, to be able to sit here and relax, to share a smoke with a friend and not have to worry about orcs and goblins.”

“You consider us friends, Mister Baggins?” Nori looked over at him.

“Of course I do!” He answered emphatically. How could he not see them as friends?

Nori reached over and put a hand on Bilbo’s knee. “I’m happy to call you friend, Bilbo.” He gave the knee a squeeze. “It means a great deal to me that you feel that way.”

They sat there for several hours, smoking their pipes and Nori’s hand on his knee. At the time, Bilbo had wondered why but passed it off as Nori not having that many _real_ friends. Later, though, as he lay trying to sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else to it.

The next afternoon, he took his leaf and pipe and went to find Nori, sitting down beside him where he was talking with his brothers. Bilbo smiled at Ori and Dori before looking at Nori. “You know, I’ve heard stories about everyone, but none about you. Would you mind?”

Nori blinked at him and glanced at his brothers before smiling. “Alright, Bilbo, I can spin you a tale or two.” The dwarf grinned and immediately began a story of his youth, before Ori was born, of how he and Dori use to get into fights over who was the favorite son.

By the end of the story, all four of them were laughing, and it did the hobbit’s heart good to see Dori with his arm around Nori’s shoulders and leaning into him with tears of laughter in his eye. By the tender look on Ori’s face, it meant a great deal to the young dwarf, too, and they both grinned when Nori’s story was met with one from Dori about how Nori had liked wearing dresses when he was a tot.

One story led to another story, and before long Nori and Dori were more relaxed beside one another than Bilbo had ever seen. Ori patted the hobbit on the back and whispered a thanks before getting up to go see about supper, Dori following him soon after.

“Thank you, Bilbo.” Nori smiled at him. “I’ve not… Dori and I have never laughed like that together in longer than you’ve been alive, I don’t think. It was nice, feeling like a family again.”

“You’ll always be a family, Nori.” Bilbo shifted closer to him, placing a hand on the dwarf’s arm. “I’m grateful to have been allowed to be a part of the moment.” He couldn’t quite put a word to how he felt about it, but it made him feel warm and special.

Nori placed his hand over Bilbo’s and gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad you were here for it, myself.” He leaned in and bumped his head against Bilbo’s lightly before pulling away and standing up. “We best get to supper before the others eat it all.” He offered Bilbo a hand up.

Flushed from the sign of affection, which Bilbo was certain that’s what it was, he took the hand and let the dwarf pull him up and along to the table. It occurred to the hobbit that there was more going on than just Nori being friendly, but he didn’t know just what to read into it.

After supper, he decided to speak to Balin about what was going on, not knowing who else to ask.

“It sounds to me like he’s sweet on you, laddie.” Balin smiled at him, laughing when Bilbo flushed from his hair to his toes. “Question is, I think, how do you feel about him?” He gave the hobbit a pat on the shoulder then walked off to let Bilbo think about it.

How did he feel about Nori? Bilbo wasn’t really sure. He liked the dwarf well enough, enjoyed his company and his smile. Taking his pipe, he went to sit down beside Bofur and watch Nori much like he’d done before they’d come across the mountain trolls. It didn’t take a lot of watching for him to realize that he’d likely been a bit smitten with the dwarf for quite some time. He really was a bit naïve about these things, to not have noticed.

Sighing, unsure what to do, he tapped out his pipe and bid Bofur a good night, assuring his friend he was alright when the dwarf looked at him in concern. It was pretty early to be going to bed, after all, but he needed to be alone to think and going to bed was the best way to do that.

He laid for quite some time mulling over everything he knew about Nori, how he felt about Nori, and many other things before sleep finally began to pull at his mind. He’d just curled up, finally intending to sleep, when he felt someone lay down behind him and wrap an arm around his stomach. It wasn’t unusual for the dwarves to do this, on the road at least where he would often catch chill, but there was little cause for it inside of Beorn’s house.

Taking a breath, it was easy to smell Nori’s pungent pipe smoke and he couldn’t help but smile. “Cold, Mister Nori?” He asked, tone light.

Nori laughed against his curls. “Hardly, Mister Baggins. I just thought I’d join you, if you don’t mind.” Bilbo felt the dwarf’s nose nuzzle into his hair.

“I don’t mind at all,” he told him before shifting and rolling over to face him. “What brought this on?” He looked up at him.

“You’re not a dense lad, not really, and I saw you talking to Balin.” He returned his nose to Bilbo’s hair. “Not sure when it happened, Master Hobbit, but I’ve grown quite fond of you,” he whispered into the curls.

Bilbo smiled and rested his head against Nori’s chest. He wasn’t sure when it had happened either, but he’d done the same. “I certainly won’t complain, Master Dwarf.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, enjoying the smell of Nori. It would be hard, he knew, caring for a dwarf, especially on this journey, but Bilbo could only have faith, as he dozed off to the feeling of lips pressed against his hairline, that it would be worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Enchantment - Bilbo/Gandalf
> 
> Yes. You read that right. ;-)


	6. Enchantment - Bilbo/Gandalf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon is casting a spell over you. How do you respond to the touch of magic?

Being back in the Shire always brought warmth to Gandalf’s heart. Hobbits were such extraordinary creatures, none more so than his dear Bilbo. The wizard had not been to visit in over six months, and he knew without doubt Bilbo was going to be quite cross with him. As understanding as the hobbit was, he was as prone to fancy and ‘if only’s, even when he knew they couldn’t be realized.

Gandalf would receive a small scolding, and Bilbo would let it go. Though, in the back of those expressive eyes the wizard would see it, the sadness his visits brought. The both knew he could never stay for too long, and it could be months or a year before he’d return again. The wizard knew he should stop it, change the definition of their friendship and not come as often, if only to spare his dear hobbit and allow Bilbo to turn his attention elsewhere. But, Gandalf couldn’t.

Plodding along the narrow paths toward Bag End, he could see Bilbo puffing on his pipe and stretching as he enjoyed the late morning sun. It reminded Gandalf of years past and an adventure, the very one that saw him starting up these, for him at any rate, frequent visits to Hobbiton and Bag End.

He thought also of the letters he carried for the hobbit, from dwarf and elf and man. They always lit up Bilbo’s face so completely that it would bring a tear to the wizard’s eye. In those moments, and in many others, he knew he could never change anything, as much as it might be for the better.

Coming to a stop outside the gate, he leaned against his staff and smiled at Bilbo. “Hello, Bilbo.”

“You’re late.” Bilbo pointed the tip of his pipe at him before placing it back in his mouth.

“My dear Bilbo, I’ve told you before, a wizard is never late. He arrives exactly when he is meant to.” He smiled and moved through the gate, easing himself down beside the hobbit on the small bench. “But, for curiosities sake, what am I late for?”

He knew the answer before it was given. “It’s been nearly seven and a half months,” Bilbo said around his pipe before pulling it away to blow a smoke ring.

Gandalf sighed softly. “I know, _melindo_.” He placed a gentle hand on the hobbit’s leg, his hand covering more than Bilbo’s thigh.

“Seven and a half _months_ , Olórin,” he glowered up at the Istari, eyes tired and sad as much as relieved and happy. “And only word _once_.”

“I apologize, Bilbo.” He moved his hand, putting his arm around the hobbit’s shoulders. “I have missed you, do not doubt, and if I could ever be at your side, I would.”

The hobbit sighed and leaned into him, resting his head against the wizard’s chest. “I know, I just… I never worry that you are dead, but I worry of other things. I am old, Gandalf. I’m not longer the youth that searched for elves or the middle aged hobbit that raced after dwarves. One day you may return and find me not here at all.”

Gandalf felt his chest tighten as his lungs and heart stopped for a moment. It was true, he knew, that Bilbo was getting older, and that he was mortal, but usually he chose to overlook that. It was too painful to think about. To know that Bilbo worried on it, hurt the wizard. “You are not so old, Bilbo Baggins. You’ve many years yet left to you.” He rubbed the hobbit’s arm as he drew him tighter against his side.

How many years, there was no way of knowing. Bilbo was moving into old age now, having turned eight-one some eight months back. “I feel old,” the hobbit told him.

“Maybe a trip to Rivendell would liven your spirits. It is where I’m heading, after here.” It would allow them more time together, even though it would make their parting all the harder when the time came. The long he was with Bilbo, the more he wanted to stay. He had never been under the spell of another the way he was with the hobbit.

Bilbo sighed and sat up, looking away from him. “And how long until you leave?” He asked quietly, voice sounding so small and utterly defeated.

The wizard cursed himself. His mouth had run away with him. He didn’t usually have that problem, least ways with anyone else. Oh, sure, sometimes he _seemed_ to let it run away with him, but he always knew what he was doing, saying things that needed said. This had not needed said, not yet. “Not for some time,” he settled on as answer.

“You’ll let me know, in advance?” The hobbit still held his gaze averted from Gandalf.

“I always do.” His long fingers brushed at Bilbo’s hair. He’d learned to tell him after the first few times. It was best to not mention leaving until it was only days, a week at most, away. Bilbo could lie to himself, for a little while, that way. Really, it wasn’t healthy for either one of them, this thing they did, but neither one of them seemed willing to stop.

The hobbit sighed and again leaned his head over on the wizard’s chest. “I’ll… consider it.”

Gandalf carded moved his fingers from petting to carding through his hobbit’s hair, teasing the shell of an ear absently. He smirked when Bilbo gave a soft sigh that sound far much more like a gentle coo. It never ceased to fascinate him the sounds he could draw from his friend. But outside was not the place to think such things. Bilbo would have none of it.

“Let’s not worry about it now.” Tell me, how is young Frodo?” Bilbo was downright taken with his three year old cousin, as Gandalf had seen at their joint birthday the year before.

“Growing like a weed and running poor Drogo ragged. Prim gets far too much amusement out of it.” He shook his head. “He’s a good boy and so smart.”

“I look forward to seeing how much he’s grown.” The conversation seemed to end there, falling into silence; a comfortable quiet where they were alone in the world and concerned only for one another and enjoying just being side by side.

Bilbo rested against him for quite some time more until the sun found its way close to the horizon. “It’s time I get supper ready.” He finally sat up. “I’ll make some tea, as well.” A smile brightened his face softly as he moved to stand, leaning up once on his feet to gift the wizard with the barest of kisses to his whiskered cheek.

Gandalf smiled and followed the hobbit inside. He placed the letters in his pocket on Bilbo's desk before moving to sit in the kitchen and watch Bilbo. The usual urge to travel, to see and protect Middle Earth was like a faint echo in his mind. He had to make himself stay aware of it, of his duty. It would be far too easy to lose himself to the Shire… to a hobbit in a hole in the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Exuberance - Bilbo/Kili


	7. Exuberance - Bilbo/Kili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This dragon is snorting and writhing with excitement. What would you do if you felt truly exuberant?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my second attempt at this story. I had/have another one started, but it wasn't wanting to shape up right, so I changed tactics. I'm not convinced this is any better, but it is at least finished, though I can't say I'm pleased with it. I think it fell short of meeting exuberance, but to me Kili is the embodiment of the trait, so that will have to do, and it's rushed. 
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy it.

The dwarves were gathered in Beorn’s house, drinking and enjoying themselves. Bilbo watched them, amused at their antics as they jostled one another and laughed merrily. It reminded him of how they’d been in his own home and in Rivendell. There had been little chance for any joy in some time. It was good to see the others having so much fun.

“Bilbo, come join us!” Kili called from where he was leaning heavily on his brother, mug of mead in hand. He was grinning broadly, eyes dancing in merriment and warmth.

Puffing on his pipe, the hobbit chuckled. “I’m alright here, Kili, but thank you.”

“Awe, come on,” he whined, moving over to the hobbit. “Come drink with us!”

Bilbo laughed. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to go drinking with hobbits, my prince.” He grinned at the dwarf. “We’re very stout drinkers.”

“You’re joking, laddie. A tiny thing like you?” Gloin scoffed, having a hearty laugh.

Gandalf chuckled from where he sat by Bilbo. “You shouldn’t be so quick to judge, Gloin, son of Groin.”

“I don’t buy it.” Dwalin eyed Bilbo, doubtfully.

“A contest then!” Fili exclaimed eagerly.

“You have all begun without me. It would be hardly fair of me to start so far behind. You really would stand no chance then.” Bilbo grinned at them around his pipe, rather smug.

The dwarves looked amongst themselves before they all started laughing anew. “Really, Mister Bilbo, I think it puts us on even ground,” Dori smiled at the hobbit.

Sighing, Bilbo tapped out his pipe. “Very well, if you all truly insist upon this, then I have little choice but to teach you not to underestimate a hobbit in such matters.” Bilbo stood and walked over to them. Mead, if you would be so kind, gentledwarves.”

Mead was poured for him, and the hobbit began to drink, his cup never running empty as he matched the dwarves drink for drink. Some of them began to begin their singing and merry making again, trading songs and tales same as they traded mead and wine.

“Do you have drinking songs in the shire, Bilbo?” Kili asked him, leaning against the hobbit more heavily than he had been.

“Many.” Bilbo chuckled taking a drink. “We hobbits have songs for most everything.”

“I want to hear one!” He sat up quickly, swayed a moment, and then landed back against the hobbit’s side rather hard.

Bilbo winced. “You are not light, Kili. Do be careful, would you.” He thought for a moment, trying to think of a good song to sing. He grinned suddenly, as he thought of one that the dwarves might somewhat enjoy. “Well, how about I just make one up. We hobbits are good at that. I’ve made up plenty as we’ve traveled, even on about the elves.”

“Elves?!” Came several voices around the room, with varying degrees of outrage and curiosity.

“Oh, yes. Shall I sing it for you?” He went to take another drink but paused as Dori refilled his not quite empty stein.

“No!” “Yes!” Were the answers he received. He grinned, deciding to go ahead since Kili seemed interested and eager to hear it. Clearing his throat, he hummed the tune a moment, letting himself recall the words he’d made up as they’d left Rivendell.

 

 

_I've friends in most o’ races now_  
 _Hobbits, Dwarves, and Men_  
 _and with them all, as I recall,_  
 _can share a smoke or grin_

_but there's one group of beings,_  
 _I can't quite figure out_  
 _I always make a fool of me_  
 _whenever elves about_

_It's not that they're unfriendly,_  
 _but they treat me like a child._  
 _They're just so otherworldly,_  
 _distant, free, and wild._  
 _They tower there above me,_  
 _like moonlight come to skin._  
 _Their eyes glittering like diamonds,_  
 _so pale and cold and thin_

_They whisper jokes in Elvish_  
 _and laugh over my head._  
 _They make me feel so foolish,_  
 _I wish that I were dead._

_But when it comes to courage,_  
 _no finer can be found._  
 _and they're the best beside you_  
 _when trouble's sniffing round._

_Yes, friends among the elf lords_  
 _is quite a wondrous treat,_  
 _but I'd rather be a hobbit_  
 _from head to furry feet._  
 _Yes, I'd rather be a hobbit_  
 _from head to furry feet._

There were various reactions around through the song, most of the dwarves scoffing here or there, but Bilbo could tell they’d still enjoyed the song, if only for the fact that it sort of said that being a hobbit was better than being an elf.

“I’m not sure what the elves would make of your song, Bilbo,” Gandalf laughed, eyes dancing, “but well done, my friend.”

Bilbo flushed lightly and smiled at the wizard. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

“Perhaps you can sing us one that hasn’t to do with poncy elves, Mister Baggins?” Thorin gave Bilbo a long, hard look, but most of the usual heat was not present this time. That was still taking some getting accustomed to.

“Please, Bilbo?” Kili gave him the pleading look that Bilbo had seen the prince turn on even his uncle. While it wasn’t as effective as quickly on Thorin, the hobbit had seen it whittle away at the king and eventually get the prince what he wanted, within reason. The prince was practically vibrating against the hobbit’s side.

“And what would you have me sing about now?” He asked, curious. “I haven’t written a song about dwarves, yet.”

“Just dwarves? You’ve a song about men?” Fili asked, curious.

“Well, not directly, no, but they’re mentioned in some of our songs. Men are who hobbits have the most contact with, you see, so it’s only natural.” Bilbo focused on his drink for a moment, thinking. “Oh, of course, how silly of me, I know the perfect song!” He grinned at them. “Keep in mind it’s from the man’s point of view, but it’s quite popular in the shire, for obvious reasons.”

 

  
_Don't go drinking with hobbits._   
_Sure, you'll have a grand time all night long._   
_But if you go drinking with hobbits, my friend,_   
_you may not want to wake up at all._   


  
_They were thoughtful and kind when they invited me to drink,_   
_a lone human among hobbitkind._   
_They bought me a half, then another and one more_   
_and told stories of days long gone by._   


  
_The brew was strong. My glass never empty,_   
_as if time stood still and bare._   
_But when I awoke the next morning_   
_I felt like Old Smaug had been there._   


  
_Oh, don't go drinking with hobbits._   
_Sure you'll have a grand time all night long._   
_But if you go drinking with hobbits, my friend,_   
_you may not want to wake up at all._   


  
_You may wonder how it all happened._   
_Well, I'm still wondering what happened, too._   
_I had tea, dinner, and supper._   
_Quite full, I thought I was through._   


  
_But, they insisted I come to the Flagon_   
_and drink to the health of new friends._   
_But when I got there, I made more hobbit friends_   
_and the toasts seemed never to end._   


  
_Oh, don't go drinking with hobbits._   
_Sure you'll have a grand time all night long._   
_But if you go drinking with hobbits, my friend,_   
_you may not want to wake up at all._   


  
_When the sun it rose the next morning,_   
_and I lifted my head from my drool,_   
_There were beer mugs spilled on the tables_   
_and hobbits lying next to their stools._   


  
_A young hobbit lass grinned cross the barroom_   
_and nudged each of my new hobbit friends._   
_And then sometime after second breakfast_   
_we all started drinking again._   


  
_Oh, don't go drinking with hobbits._   
_Sure you'll have a grand time all night long._   
_But if you go drinking with hobbits, my friend,_   
_you may not want to wake up at all._   


  
_I left Hobbiton a few days later._   
_My head was swollen and sore._   
_It felt like a dwarven anvil_   
_After a terrible war._   


  
_I don't think I'll ever recover_   
_from the food, the drink, and the cheer._   
_And I swear, I'll never drink with hobbits again_   
_At least till I see them next year._   


  
_Don't go drinking with hobbits._   
_Sure you'll have a grand time all night long._   
_But if you go drinking with hobbits, my friend,_   
_you may not want to wake up at all._   


  
_No, don't go drinking with hobbits._   
_Sure you'll have a grand time all night long._   
_But if you go drinking with hobbits, my friend,_   
_you may not want to wake up at all._   


 

The dwarves, singing along by the end of the song, downed their drinks and laughed at the end of the song. “I’m still not convinced about your drinking, laddie.” Dwalin gave the hobbit a smug look, despite the fact that Gloin was barely conscious and drooling on the table at his side. 

Bilbo gave a small shrug. “I guess we’ll see.” His eyes twinkled as he looked at the dwarf, just as smug as the warrior was.

 

* * *

 

Waking in a rather uncomfortable position, Bilbo sat up and stretched with a large yawn. He blinked muzzily and gazed around the room, seeing dwarves in various positions and locations, most having passed out where they were instead of actually moving to sleep somewhere practical. Not that he could say much, it seemed he’d done much the same. 

Feeling the need to make water, he moved to get up but found his lower half held down firmly but a strong arm about his waist and a dark head pillowed in his lap. He recalled, then, that Kili had passed out some time before himself and some of the others and had decided that Bilbo would make a nice place to do so. It’d taken some shifting and effort on his own part to get the prince reclined with his head in Bilbo’s lap, and the hobbit had left him there as he and the others focused still on their drinking and merry making. 

Now, though, he really needed Kili to move. With some force, he pushed the prince off and gained his feet, heading off to see to his bladder and then some breakfast. He was _starving_ he found, and the animals in the house were more than happy to help him prepare a large meal for everyone.

As the smells wafted through the house, groans could be heard from rousing dwarves, as well as running feet and whimpers as some rushed to lose what was left in their stomach from the night before. Smirking to himself, he helped set the table then went to rouse everyone else, delighting in the glares and moans from the hung-over dwarves. Seeing him cheerful and unaffected by the night’s drinking seemed to only irritate them further, much to Bilbo’s amusement; he had warned them, after all. 

Kili fell into the seat beside him at the table and nuzzled into him, nose buried in the collar of Bilbo’s shirt so deep the hobbit imagined that the smell of food was lost to the dwarf, probably half of his reasoning for doing so. He didn’t comment, letting the prince do as he liked, eating the food before him slowly, and savoring the delightful flavors with a smile and sound of pleasure. 

“You win, Master Hobbit,” Dwalin informed him sourly as he sat across from him. “But, if you do not stop being so damn cheerful, I won’t be held responsible.” 

“But Mister Dwalin, there’s so much to be cheerful about this fine, bright morning. The birds are singing, the sun is shining, there’s good food and pleasant company, and there will be no orcs or goblins knocking at the door. I dare say, there’s no finer a time to be cheerful than right this minute.” He grinned at the warrior. “Now, have some greasy fried breakfast. Trust me. It will help.” 

Everyone followed his advice, most knowing what he said to be true. Then, they all either went back to sleep or outside. Bilbo stayed seated, unable to get up without dislodging the dwarf leeched to his side. Once everyone was gone, however, Kili moved away. “I liked your songs, Bilbo.” He smiled at the hobbit. “Would you teach me some more?” 

“Without the drink, I hope.” The hobbit smiled up at him, eyes slipping closed as Kili leaned in to give him a soft kiss. 

“We don’t need drink to have fun, Bilbo,” he breathed into the hobbit’s ear then sighed. “But, I don’t feel up to anything to strenuous just yet, so singing will have to do.” 

Bilbo pressed a cup of tea into Kili’s hands. “Drink this and have a bite to eat, then we’ll find a nice shady place outside and I’ll teach you all the songs I can think of.” He leaned up and kissed the prince sweetly. “At least until you feel up to _other_ things.” He grinned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs I used are off the album 'Don't Go Drinking with Hobbits' by Marc Gunn. I absolutely LOVE the album, and I highly recommend it. 
> 
> So you can hear them yourselves: 
> 
> ['Elves'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymLtXVUp-xk) 
> 
> ['Don't Go Drinking with Hobbits'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9mJCN1hDcpA)
> 
>  
> 
> Next up - Unpredictability - Ri brothers gen, with mention of Nori/Bofur


	8. Unpredictability - Dori, Nori, & Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This dragon can cause trouble by popping up out of the blue. Are you pleased or annoyed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As appreciation for all the subscribers, kudos, and bookmarks, I'm doing two updates in one day as way of thanks to everyone. 
> 
> Taking a break from Bilbo for a bit. I hope you all don't mind. I had thought about doing this one as Bilbo's POV to Gandalf's from 'Enchantment' but then this idea hit me and boy did it run off with itself. This one has been done since the day after I uploaded 'Enchantment' but I had to work out 'Exuberance' before I could put it up. 
> 
> Word of warning, this one isn't fluffy.

Watching over his brothers was never easy, and the loss of home and parents had been hard on all of them. Ori was too young to remember much, and he easily forgot except in his nightmares. Dori envied him that; not the nightmares, of course, but the innocence. As the eldest, Dori had to focus on his brothers, particularly raising Ori the rest of the way to adulthood but also making sure Nori, who’d not been an adult all that long, was fed and alright as well.

Nori… Nori never truly coped.

Dori knew that his brother’s behavior was nothing more than acting out, a way to hide from his grief and the burdens of their forced exodus from Erebor. He tried to get through to him, to get him to talk about everything, but doing so only made it all worse. The older they got the more trouble Nori found, and the less of a reason and more of an excuse their plight became in regard to his behavior.

Eventually, Dori had enough, and though it broke his heart, he forced Nori to choose; his ways or his family. Ori needed stability and Dori needed to not sit up at night waiting on news of Nori. He spent far too much time worrying about what Nori was doing, if he’d found his way into jail again, if he was even alive or had finally wound up… Dori didn’t like thinking about that, but it was how his thoughts always turned. One day, someone was going to come knocking, someone was going to inform him his brother had gone too far and was dead in the back alley behind some seedy something or other.

In hindsight, forcing the choice probably made it for Nori. He wasn’t one to be pushed around. Dori had to bite back tears as his brother stormed from the house without a look back. Ori… Ori’s cries echoed through the house and out into the street. For nearly two weeks, he wouldn’t speak to Dori, blaming him for chasing away his ‘favorite’ brother.

How Dori’s heart ached! For a time, he was broken and listless; functioning but not feeling much save the familiar loss he’d had after losing his parents. He had no idea how to fix anything; all he’d ever tried had never worked. Dori was beginning to believe he was part of the problem.

Then, out of nowhere, Ori was back to behaving as he had before Nori left, laughing and talking over breakfast one morning like nothing had happened and Dori hadn’t been hurt or upset at all the last eleven days. It took him weeks to find out what brought about the change of heart.

Finding Nori in Ori’s room wasn’t that surprising, though the lateness of the hour left much to be desired. The lad had studies the next day and being awake in the middle of the night would do him no favors in them, even if Balin was a patient dwarf. Yet, he left them there, murmuring to one another, and made his way back to his own room.

A part of him hurt that Nori wouldn’t come see him, but he also reasoned that was because of how things had gone the last time they’d been face to face. It was good to know that his brother hadn’t turned his back on family, which Dori had always hoped he wasn’t capable of doing until that night he’d left. Not knowing how frequent these visits were, he decided to just let Nori comfort Ori a little, as the lad obviously needed more than Dori could provide alone.

Each night, he found himself sitting up again, waiting. Weeks of not knowing if Nori was alive or dead or in jail or something worse had been torture. Every time he found him talking quietly with Ori was a relief to know he was alive and seemed well. The visits, though, were few and far between. Sometimes weeks would go by without Nori stopping in, and other times he’d be in three times a week. The unpredictability of it all was hard on Dori, but Ori slept sound until his brother came and then dozed off again when he left. The arrangement seemed fine to the young dwarf.

Dori tried to cope with it, to just let it be and go along with Nori’s random visits, visits he only knew about because he heard the soft voices from his baby brother’s room. Months had gone by and he’d not seen his brother once, and being satisfied with knowing he was alive… It really wasn’t enough. He didn’t know if he was eating well, if he was being kept warm enough, clean enough… He didn’t know how his health was. Ori hadn’t mentioned anything, but he was young and just happy to see Nori, Dori was sure. He’d not think of such things.

So, one morning after a visit, he waited in the kitchen for Ori to come to breakfast. When the young dwarf did, he served him as usual. “It’s been months, Ori. Don’t you think at some point you should have mentioned Nori sneaking into your room?” He asked casually, back to his brother as he saw to tea.

The sudden quiet behind him alerted him to the fact that Ori truly did think he’d not noticed. “I…” The younger dwarf tried. “You would have made him stay away,” he finally whispered, voice scared and so small.

Dori turned around and walked over to him, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I’ve not stopped it yet, have I?” He sighed softly. “Just… The next time you see him make sure of some things for me, okay? Has he lost weight, does he look healthy, are his clothes good enough for winter, is he clean.” His voice shook and had to force himself not to let his worry show too much. It was becoming too hard and he felt like crying, like demanding Ori tell Nori to come home so he could take care of him. But, Nori was a grown dwarf; he had to be allowed to make his own choices even if it broke Dori’s heart and kept him awake at night.

Ori blinked up at him with innocent eyes. “He’s fine, Dori. I promise. He’s always clean and healthy, and his clothes are fine. He looks well fed and happy.” He smiled then went back to his breakfast.

‘Happy.’ Ori had no idea how much that was a punch to the gut, and he turned back to the tea so he wouldn’t realize. Nori was happy. He’d never seemed happy at home, happy around Dori. Maybe he truly was the problem, and if he’d done so poorly with Nori… Was he doing a bad job with Ori as well? Were the visits from Nori the only thing keeping Ori happy?

“Don’t be late to Master Balin,” he told Ori, taking his tea and leaving the room, forgoing any breakfast of his own. He felt sick and tired and just… All he wanted was to enjoy his tea and have some rest. His day was free, no errands or work to do, so he’d just go up to his room and rest.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but Ori at his shoulder woke him and he blinked up at him. “Have you not left to Master Balin’s yet?” He asked frowning.

Ori blinked at him. “I left this morning.” He looked at his brother in confusion. “I’ve been home from lessons for hours.”

Dori blinked again and sat up. “Oh my. You must be starving.” He quickly got up out of bed, heading for the kitchen.

“I can make myself food, you know. I’m not helpless,” Ori spoke softly behind him.

This made the older dwarf pause and look back at Ori. ‘I’m not helpless.’ Nori use to say the same thing. “Did you make something to eat?”

Ori nodded. “Some ham sandwiches and fruit.” It was a favorite afternoon treat of Ori’s, and it was simple enough to make.

Dori gave a small nod. “Alright. If you’ve not seen to your studies that Master Balin sent home, go do so.” He walked away, going to the kitchen to clean up from breakfast and Ori’s snack so he could begin to prepare supper for them.

The work was familiar enough he didn’t have to think about it, and he soon had the kitchen clean and supper roasting. He began himself some tea, going to his room to collect the unfinished cup he’d taken with him that morning to clean as well while it steeped. Then, fresh tea in hand, he went to sit and knit. It was something to do with his hands and to ease his mind, and when he lost himself to it, time passed rather quickly. He’d knitted baskets full of various things in his nights waiting up for Nori, before and after he’d left home.

“Dori, I think the roast’s burning,” Ori called to him, jerking him from the meditative state the knitting had put him in. He jumped to his feet and rushed into the kitchen, cursing under his breath as he saw smoke rising from the cast iron pot he had sitting by the fire.

He rushed forward, pulling it away before he thought to grab something to keep from burning his hand, wincing as he let go of the handle, he quickly grabbed a mitt and lifted the lid off. It was burned, but not too much that there wouldn’t be something to eat. Grabbing a plate, he dumped the meat out onto it and carved off the parts too overcooked to be edible.

Dori then turned to making some vegetables to go with it, careful to not cook anything green, though beans were a perfectly good source of nutrients to make young dwarves grow strong. Ori would have none of it, though.

It didn’t take long to have the food on the table, and he had Ori sit to eat. He went to see to his hand, red and slightly blistered, wrapping it just enough to not need to worry about it until after Ori was in bed. Then, he sat down as well, joining the boy in the meal though he didn’t have much of an appetite and eating one handed was more hassle than he felt like dealing with.

After they had eaten, Dori left the dishes and leftovers be and went to sit with Ori and listen to the boy tell him all about what he’d learned from Master Balin during his lessons, as well as hear all about the antics of Fili, Kili, and Gimli, who was barely old enough to attend studies but kicked up too much of a fuss to be left out. Dori knitted, or tried to do so but the pain in his hand was making it difficult, as he listened, commenting here or there so Ori knew he was paying attention.

“You will have to invite your friends over to stay one night when you don’t have lessons the next day.” He smiled, knowing it would do his brother good to spend time with his friends away from Master Balin’s.

When he didn’t get a response, he glanced up at Ori. The lad sat staring at him wide eyed and slack jawed. “You really mean it?” He asked eyes so hopeful it almost hurt to look at them.

“Of course I mean it, I said it.” He rolled his eyes at his brother. “Now, off to your bath with you. I’ll clean up and then see you to bed.”

Ori rolled his eyes. “I’m not little anymore, Dori. You don’t have to tuck me in.” He got up, though, and headed off for his bath.

Dori sighed, sitting still for a moment before getting up to see to the dishes and leftover food. By the time he was finished, working through the pain in his hand as there was no way he’d have gotten it done using only his right, he went to check on Ori. The young dwarf was just getting into bed. “An hour of reading then lights out,” he told the boy, then turned and left him to it. If he didn’t want to be tucked in, Dori wouldn’t force the issue. He’d not push another brother away.

He went to wash up as well, taking a moment to bandage his hand after, and then finished up a few things around the house before going back to make sure that Ori was not still up. Dori walked over to the bed and brushed the hair off the young dwarf’s face, smiling and leaning down to give his forehead a soft kiss before blowing out the lamp and putting the book still in Ori’s hand on the bedside table.

Dori left the door cracked, like he always did, and headed to his room, feeling worn out despite the fact that he’d slept most of the day. He changed for bed and wasted no time in turning in. For the first time since he’d found out about Nori’s occasional return home to see Ori, Dori didn’t stay up waiting. Nori had been there the night before, and he had no reason to believe he’d be back again right after a visit. He never was, and Dori was so tired.

He slept soundly until a noise woke him, and he jerked awake and immediately moved to sit up, but a tug on his left hand and a jolt of pain through his palm made him freeze. His eyes jerked over and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his brother, of Nori sitting on the edge of the bed holding his hand and gently smearing a balm across the burn.

He’d not seen him in months, and he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around him and give him a bone crushing hug. Yet, all he could do was sit there, staring at the other with his breath stuck in his throat and his tongue numb for words.

Ori had been right. Nori did look well. He was clean and healthy, his hair shone and there were laugh lines around his eyes that Dori didn’t remember. His clothes were clean and pristine. He looked like he was doing well for himself, better than he had with his family, with Dori.

“Ori said you’d hurt yourself, that you’ve not been eating,” Nori’s voice was soft and smooth, just like it always was, and it was so good to hear it up close instead of muffled through cracked doors and walls.

Dori gave a half shrug with his right shoulder and looked down at their hands where Nori was carefully tending the burn in his palm. “I’m fine,” he finally spoke. “I’ve just had an off day.”

Nori snorted and reached into a pocket, pulling out a white bandage. Dori didn’t want to think about why he was carrying around bandages. “You’ve lost weight. Not a lot, but I can tell.” He gently began to wind the bandage around Dori’s hand.

“A little weight over so many months isn’t such a big deal, Nori. I’m busy.”

“It’s not a little weight over many months. It’s only been going on for the last few weeks, and your clothes are getting baggy. You hate wearing baggy clothing, Dori.” He tied off the bandage and slipped the rest back into his pocket. “Now what’s wrong?” He looked up and met his older brother’s gaze.

For a moment, Dori had no idea what to say. “Wrong? What could _possibly_ be wrong, Nori?” He forced his voice down, though his will to fight, to yell wasn’t really there, making it an easy feat.

Nori frowned at him for a moment. “You told me to leave.”

“I didn’t tell you to do anything. I asked you to consider your family, to realize that we… that _Ori_ is more important than whatever thrill you get out of the nonsense you do.” He dropped his gaze from Nori to his bandaged hand.

“Ori _is_ more important than _anything_. How could you think I don’t believe that?! I love him as if he were my own son, not just my brother.”

“I know you love him, though random moments in the middle of the night are hardly the structure a child needs, are they? Never knowing when you will or won’t come, if you’ll come back at all.” Dori shook his head. “I’m tired, Nori, so tired.” He closed his eyes and rested his right hand over his face.

The room was silent for several moments before Nori moved and pulled Dori into his arms tightly. “I love you, too, Dori,” he breathed into his brother’s ear. “Living with me was hard on you. I thought it’d be easier if I wasn’t around. I’ve been staying out of trouble, best I can. Still owe some debts and I have to make due on them when they’re called, but otherwise… I’m staying over near the mines, in a little flat. I even got a job, if you can believe it, at a tavern over there.”

Dori gave a choked sob and burrowed his face into Nori’s chest. All that time and he’d thought that Nori hadn’t chosen his family, when that was exactly what Nori had done. “I still sit up at night, wondering what sort of trouble you’re in, if you’re even alive, when I’ll get to hear your voice in Ori’s room. I sit up and worry and hurt because not once have you come to see _me_.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Nori answered honestly, squeezing his brother to him tighter. “I can come home, if you want, but I’m not sure my flatmate would appreciate it. We, uh, are kind of… Well…” Nori sat back and rubbed at the back of his neck in a way that reminded Dori of when he’d been a young dwarf not more than a decade or so older than Ori.

“You are?” He prompted, sniffing softly and doing his best to get ahold of his faculties.

“Courting. I’m courting someone.” He pinked about the cheeks and wouldn’t meet Dori in the eyes.

The older brother didn’t know what to think or say. Nori was courting someone. It was hard to imagine, his brother settling down. But, he wanted Nori home, and if that meant having another person about, someone else to anchor Nori to home, then he was more than happy to have it. “Bring them with you.”

Nori gave him the same look Ori had given him when he’d suggested the sleepover. Did his brothers really think he didn’t want them to have friends, to have people in their lives besides him? “I…uh… I’ll ask him. He works under the flat, in a toy shop with his cousin and brother, but he might be willing, as long as his brother can look after their cousin. Bifur’s not quite right in the head anymore, you see. Has a goblin ax stuck in his skull.”

“I think I recall hearing Dwalin speak of him, once.” He gave a small nod. “If he can’t come, then promise me that you will at least come over for dinner, no less than twice a week. He and his family are welcome as well.”

The last thing he expected was for Nori to wrap his arms around him again and squeeze the life from him with the biggest grin Dori had seen in a long while spread across his face. He had a feeling this beau of his brother’s was responsible for the laugh lines around Nori’s eyes. “I promise, Dori. You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

Dori gave a soft chuckle and shake of his head. It was strange, Nori seeming like such a young dwarf when he’d been broken and bitter for so long. The elder brother couldn’t wait to meet this dwarf who had made Nori smile again, and thank him.

“I should be going. Bofur hates it when I’m out too late. He’s a lot like you, in that. Fusses a lot, too, when he’s of a mind.” Nori moved to get up. “I’ll bring him by tomorrow, let you and Ori meet him?” He looked hesitant, as if still unsure that Dori was alright with it.

“Bring him by in the afternoon, after Ori’s lessons. I’ll make tea and scones.” He gave a nod, smiling as Nori gave a big grin and rushed out of the room.

There was still a lot for him to work through, questions that needed answered, but for the moment, as he sat there gently stroking the bandage around his hand, Dori felt that finally things were going to be alright for their family, finally he had the brother he remembered back and the little brother they both adored happy. For the first time in a long time, he felt a weight off his shoulders and warmth back in his chest.

Blowing out the lamp Nori must have lit; Dori returned to bed and closed his eyes without worry of nightmares or his brother’s health. He thought he might even go with Ori to his lessons the next day. It had been quite some time since he’d seen Balin, and he truly did enjoy the older dwarf’s company. He might even have to invite Balin over for supper one night, after sending Ori off to stay with Nori or to Gloin’s house to spend the night with Gimli. It would be nice, spending time alone with an adult not his brother, and he could think of no one finer than Balin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Extravagance - Bofur/Nori 
> 
> I promise, I'll be getting back to Bilbo soon, but nine and ten are going to be Bofur centric. I haven't settled on what to do with the one after that, yet.


	9. Extravagance - Bofur/Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon wants to shower you with gold and diamonds. Can you accept such generosity or is it your turn to be extravagant?

Bofur hummed to himself, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as he waited patiently outside Dori’s door. He’d been having meals with the brothers for years; he knew he needn’t knock, but he never felt quite right just walking in if he wasn’t sure Nori was already within.

He smiled brightly at Dori when the older dwarf opened the door. “Evening, Dori.” He gave him a half bow.

The silver-haired dwarf rolled his eyes. “Get in here, Bofur. How many times . . .”

The miner turned toymaker laughed. “I know, I know.” He stepped inside. “Nori here yet?” He bounced on his feet again, eyes darting about looking for his intended. He ignored the curious glance Dori was giving his behavior. Though a fun dwarf, Bofur knew he wasn’t usually a ball of energy.

“Not at the moment. He went to meet Ori at Ba… _Master_ Balin’s.” Dori’s cheeks flushed at his near slip, making Bofur roll his eyes.

They all knew that Dori and Balin were courting one another, even if the two hadn’t said anything to their families. He wasn’t sure why they would hide it, but it was their business. “Need help with anything?” He asked, looking into the kitchen were pots steamed and plates waited for the table to be set.

Dori never wanted help, but Bofur always asked. The three brothers were as kin to him, did so much for him, and it was rare he got to repay their kindness. “Just sit and relax, Bofur. You work hard enough.”

Bofur sat, shifting in his seat as he waited anxiously for Nori to get there. He accepted the tea Dori handed him and sipped it as he watched Dori set the table. “Are you sure you don’t need help, Mister Dori?”

“I’ve told you, it’s just Dori, Bofur. You’re family.” Dori didn’t pause as he turned to check on supper.

The younger dwarf sipped his tea and waited. It was at least half an hour later when Ori came bustling into the house excited about something. He was followed by a smiling Balin and a sour looking Nori. It was his ‘my brother is an idiot’ face, which was almost exclusively a look for Dori, blended with his ‘over my dead body’ face. It only made Bofur’s own anxiousness double. Nori wouldn’t be in the mood to hear what he had to say, of that there was little doubt, and he didn’t want to get into a fight. Sometimes it took them _days_ to get around to making up, and Bofur didn’t have that many days to spare.

“Master Balin!” Dori smiled. “I didn’t know you’d be joining us.” He rushed to set another place at the table.

“Ori was insistent.” Balin smiled in return. “I hope it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all! You’re always welcome.” Dori bustled about, a smile not leaving his face.

Nori snorted softly as he came over to Bofur. “Hey, handsome.” He leaned down and kissed the toymaker. “Been here long?”

Bofur chuckled, the question sounding like a bad pickup line at some tavern. “Not too long.” He pulled Nori down beside him. “Closed up at the shop early today and spent the afternoon with Bombur and Bifur.”

He felt a small tug as Nori absently played with one of his braids. It was a habit that Nori had developed not too far into their relationship. He knew Nori didn’t even realize he did it, at least not anymore. “Another slow day?” Nori asked and Bofur couldn’t quite read his tone or expression. After decades together, that puzzled him. He knew that the other dwarf could hide things, but he never had with him.

“They’re all slow. I’m going to have to go back to the mines for a bit.” He watched as Dori and Balin tried not to stare at one another while Ori prattled on about some book or other. Truly, he didn’t know why they didn’t just tell everyone, unless _they_ didn’t realize they were courting. Was that possible?

“You’re not going back in the mines,” Nori told him, voice firm. It was a tone Bofur wasn’t used to having directed at himself. Nori never told him what he could or couldn’t do, having lived with Dori and others always trying to tell him how to live his life. Bofur knew that personal freedoms were important to Nori.

The toymaker sighed. “I don’t _want_ to go, Nori. I _have_ to go. The toy store isn’t doing enough business. Bombur and Bifur won’t be able to make ends meet unless I do.” He reached up and took the hand playing with his braid, sandwiching it between his own. “I’ll be fine, and it won’t be for long.”

“You don’t know you’ll be fine,” Nori bit out, voice laced with anger. “I can help you with expenses, you know that.”

“I know, Nori, but I don’t want you to have to take care of us. You’re always doing things for me, for us, you _and_ your brothers. We appreciate all the help, we do, and it means the world to me, but I can’t keep taking handouts.” What sort of dwarf was he if he needed others to take care of his brother and cousin because he couldn’t?

Nori’s face clouded and he wrenched his hand from Bofur’s. “They aren’t handouts!” He snapped, standing in a huff. “If that’s all you think of my help…”

“No, no.” Bofur grabbed his arm. “No, that’s not… I’m sorry, I know you do it because you care, I do, but dammit, Nori, you shouldn’t have to _always_ do it!” He sighed and let go of him, leaning his elbows on his knees and doing his best to ignore the fact that they had an audience for this. “It won’t matter in a few weeks. I’ve found a way to make sure they’ll have enough to take care of themselves for several lifetimes, a way for me to be able to pamper you for a change.”

Nori frowned at him before his eyes widened. “No, Bofur, tell me you didn’t?” His voice pleaded with him. “Not you, _too_.” The other dwarf moved forward, face looking almost broken. “Tell me you didn’t sign up for such a fool’s errand!” He grasped at Bofur’s hands.

Bofur wished he could tell him what he wanted. “I had to, Nori; for them, and for you.”

“No!” He dropped his hands liked they burned and turned from him. “Don’t you _dare_ say you did this for _me_!” He snapped before storming out of the house. It left an empty, sick feeling in the pit of Bofur’s stomach, and he stared at the door not sure what to do. He’d known Nori would be upset, but something felt so final about him walking out. Maybe it was fear churning his gut, and the knowledge that once he left the Blue Mountains he might never see Nori again. All Bofur knew was he felt like someone had socked him with a mattock right in the stomach.

Just as he was about to get up and try to find Nori, usually an exercise in futility, a hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up to see Ori standing there with a sympathetic look on his face. “It’ll be okay, Mister Bofur. He’ll come around.”

Balin cleared his throat softly. “That’s one of the reasons I’m here, actually,” he spoke, looking from Bofur to Dori.

“What exactly?” Dori asked, frowning. “What’s going on?” He looked torn between anger and worry, his face mottled with red as if it wasn’t sure which it wanted to do, flush or pale.

“Thorin’s leading an expedition to take back Erebor,” Balin explained simply. “We’re gathering loyal dwarves to go with us, for a share in the treasure and the honor of reclaiming our home.”

“There’s a dragon in Erebor,” Dori pointed out, though they all knew that. He had a way of saying things that made you feel like a small dwarfling, and had his mood been any better, Bofur would have chuckled. Not many would dare talk to Balin like he was a simpleton.

The older dwarf didn’t seem to take offense. “He’s not been seen in years. Oin says the portents are right.” Balin sipped his tea. “We’ve not got many that wish to go, but Thorin’s sent out word to the rest of our people, hoping for aid.”

“You’re going with him.” Dori gave a nod, not seeming surprised before turning his gaze to Bofur. “And, you’re going, too.” His eyes were sad. “Are you sure, Bofur? It’ll be dangerous, you might not come back. What about your family?”

“Um,” came a soft sound from Ori before Bofur could answer. “You see… They, uh, needed someone to record the quest and…”

“Ori!” Dori looked horrified, and Bofur wondered if the dwarf might actually faint. His skin was paler than his hair, and he swayed on the spot.

That explained the extra vehemence in Nori’s reaction, and the look he’d had when they’d arrived. Had he known Ori was going… No, it wouldn’t have changed his mind. The adventure would be fun, or so he hoped, and seeing Erebor for the first time would be amazing. Then, there was the treasure. Even a small portion of it, from what he heard, would be enough to set up his family for the rest of their lives and after. Three portions…

Balin guided Dori to a seat and poured him some tea before resting a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be safe. Dwalin and I will both keep a close eye on him.” He didn’t sound that convincing to Bofur, but Dori seemed to calm down.

“You won’t have to keep him safe,” Dori informed Balin, face set in determination.

“Dori!” Ori admonished as much as whined. “I’ve already signed the…”

The older brother held up a hand to silence Ori. “I’m going with you. I won’t leave you to go traipsing across most of Middle Earth without me. Mahal knows you’ll all need someone with a decent head on their shoulders, no offense, Master Balin.”

Balin laughed and patted him on the back. “None taken, Mister Dori, none taken at all.” He smiled, seeming pleased by this turn of events, and why shouldn’t he be, Bofur thought, trying not to be a bit sour.  

Sighing, he sat back and rubbed at his face. Nori was going to be less pleased than before. With Ori and Dori both going, as well as Bofur… He’d feel boxed into a corner and forced to go. Part of Bofur felt guilty for that, part of him knew deep down that Nori would have chosen to go even if only one of them was going, and the rest of him was pleased, very pleased, to know that Nori would be going as well. The ground was hard and cold to sleep upon, even for a dwarf, and to have warm arms to rest in would help… If they made up, that was. He’d never seen Nori so upset with him, and the feeling in his stomach wasn’t getting any better.

“You best come eat, Bofur, before it gets cold,” Dori spoke to him, and he glanced up to realize they were all watching him.

He gave a small shake of his head, braids bouncing a little from the motion. “Not sure I could keep it down.” Bofur stood, though, and walked over to table, taking a seat beside Ori. He felt cold, and his stomach was churning from the jitters that were running through his body.

“You need to eat, lad.” Balin gave him a gentle smile. “I’ve seen the way Master Nori looks at you. He won’t run from you far or long.”

“He’s right.” Ori put a hand on Bofur’s arm. “Nori loves you. You’re his One.” The young scribe smiled at him, earnest and confident in a way Bofur was jealous of.

The toy maker put a hand over the younger dwarf’s and gave it a gentle pat. “I’m sure you’re right,” he told him, though deep inside he wasn’t sure.

“He’ll come around or I’ll thump him,” Dori spoke, face set in firm lines, which were quickly erased with a soft smile as Balin patted him on one strong shoulder.

Bofur shared a look with Ori, who rolled his eyes with a smile and shook his head. “They’re unbelievable,” he whispered to the toymaker, going unheard by the two older dwarves who were smiling at one another, oblivious to the fact that they were and that they were being watched.

Chuckling, Bofur gave a nod. “Aye, laddie, that they are.” It was sweet to see. Dori had lived a hard life, seeing to his brothers and worrying over them. Bofur knew it was hard on the older dwarf that they were both starting to live their own lives apart from him. Balin was a good sort, from what the toymaker could tell, and he’d do well be Dori.

Bofur reached out for the cooled tea on the table and poured himself a cup, mind drifting once again to Nori. The rogue had never been so angry with him before. Oh, sure, they’d had fights, usually little squabbles over petty things that blew over within hours, if not minutes, and a gentle kiss or knock of their foreheads and all was well again. There’d never been such anger before, Nori had never just left without saying he’d be back, and remembering the look on his lover’s face, the broken fear as well as the pain, made his gut twist again.

The tea tasted sour and felt like molten iron as it settled in his stomach. Setting it aside he pulled his hat from his head and wrung it in his hands, glancing at the door. He’d never find Nori if he went after him. Nori was good at disappearing, everyone knew that. Still, sitting there with the others wasn’t doing him any good, and he needed to get some rest before heading back to the mines. He’d not gotten to tell Nori he’d be starting on a shift the next morning. Probably for the best, really, that he hadn’t.

“I should get back home.” He pushed his hat back on his head and stood. “I start at the mines in the morning,” he explained before they protested. “Need my sleep.” Bofur offered them a faint smile. “Sorry about… Well, I’m sorry, Dori, bout supper. I’ll make it up to you.”

The larger dwarf shook his head and stood, coming around the table to pull Bofur into a tight hug. It made his bones ache with the strength of it, and not for the first time he wondered how Dori hadn’t squashed little Ori when he was younger. The lad had to be stronger than he looked. “Nonsense. You stand right there and let me find a pot to put some of this in. You’re taking it home with you. And don’t you go letting Bombur eat it up before you and Bifur get some.” He waggled a finger at him before turning to bussle about to do so.

There was no point in arguing. Dori’d chase him down the street with it, Bofur was certain. So, he stood there and waited, taking the large pot when it was handed to him. “Thanks, Dori. Means a lot.” He gave him a grateful smile. “You don’t…”

“Don’t you finish that sentence, Bofur, or so help me.” Dori scolded him, one hand on a hip while the other pointed at the toymaker threateningly. “You’re family.

Chastened, he looked down. He could feel his cheeks flush. “Aye. You’re a good sort, Master Dori.” He heard Dori huff and looked up and couldn’t help a small chuckle and the perturbed look on the other dwarf’s face. “’Scuse me, _Dori_.”

“Cheeky brat.” Dori shook his head. “Go on. Get your rest, and make sure to eat. Can’t go in a mine without your strength.” He moved forward to walk with Bofur to the door. “And don’t you go worrying about that idiot of a brother of mine. He’ll come around. Master Balin’s right. Nori loves you.” He rubbed Bofur’s arm gently.

“Aye.” He wished he was as confident as everyone else. It wasn’t that he thought Nori didn’t love him. He just worried that it’d be too late before Nori came around. “Have a good eve, Dori.” He gave him a small grin. “Find an errand for young Ori and spend some time with Master Balin, alone.” His grin broadened at the flush that appeared on Dori’s pretty cheeks. With a wink, he headed off before Dori swatted him, laughing softly despite himself at the huff and grumble he heard before the door closed.

His humor didn’t last long. The closer he got to home, the more his stomach churned. Bofur paused just short of the toyshop, trying to calm himself and put on a happy air. The last thing he needed to do was worry his brother and cousin, the latter of which was liable to go after Nori if he thought there was some slight done to Bofur without listening, or at least understanding, the whole story.

Bombur and Bifur weren’t in when he finally did go inside, so he left the meal to stay warm near the hearth before making his way to the small flat he shared above the store with Nori. It was no surprise that it was empty as well, though there had been a small sliver of hope the rogue would be waiting on him.

Sighing softly to himself, Bofur got ready for bed and turned in, praying to Mahal the next day would be better, that everything would be alright.

* * *

Things weren’t better with the light of day. In fact, he didn’t see Nori for three days. Bofur threw himself into his working, spending hours in the mine from morning to late evening. It was dirty, grueling work, but his body remembered it well, and he fell into it without any trouble. The conditions in the mine weren’t the best, and the good ore had mostly been taken out years before, but it would put coin in his pocket and feed his family. Bofur couldn’t ask for more than that.

Still, the lack of real rest and not feeling like eating were taking their toll on him. He hid it well from Bombur, who would worry himself sick, and Bifur, who would set off in a temper. But after three long days in the mine, he was barely able to move as he entered his flat to get a bath and then join Bombur and Bifur for supper. Bombur had threatened to sit on him if he didn’t come down.

He didn’t expect to find Nori waiting on him in the dark, and he couldn’t help but jump when the lamp suddenly lit across the room. He blinked owlishly at the other dwarf, squinting at the sudden light.

Nori sighed and shook his head before standing and walking over to him. “You really are a fool,” he said, face completely blank. “I’ll get the bath ready.” He brushed by Bofur without further word, leaving the miner/toymaker standing there bereft of words.

Bofur hesitated several moments before following after him. He wasn’t sure what to make of Nori’s sudden return home. Seeing him well and whole did his heart good, but the cool indifference left him feeling hollow and cold. He wanted to grab Nori and beg forgiveness, to cry out his pain and frustration, but he didn’t. Bofur watched him in silence, hoping to see something to tell him what Nori was thinking.

“Come on.” Nori turned to him, pulling at the filthy clothes that covered him. “You look like you were rolling in a fire pit.”

Mechanical, that described the way Nori helped him out of his clothes and into the bath. Bofur was about to tell him not to bother, that he didn’t need the help, then those hands were in his hair, and the touch changed. Nori had always loved to play with his braids, and the nimble fingers were gentle as they slowly undid them, carding through the dirty locks lightly.

Bofur looked up at him, feeling the prickling of tears in his eyes and unable to stop it. He caught a glimpse of warmth in the other dwarf’s eyes as he pet Bofur’s hair, but then Nori looked him in the eye, face turning blank and empty, and Bofur had to look away, unable to take it. He clenched his hands into fists under the water, body tensing.

For _days_ he’d worried, he’d felt broken. He’d hurt Nori, and he could understand that, could understand that Nori was scared of losing him, of losing Ori. But, Mahal take him, Bofur was not sorry he was doing something to provide for his family, doing something to repay Nori, doing something to let him treat Nori like a prince for the rest of their days. Nori deserved it, deserved to be laden with gems and gold and mithril. If Nori couldn’t, wouldn’t understand… Well Mahal take him!

Jerking around, hair catching briefly, and painfully, on a ring on Nori’s hand, he turned to face the other dwarf. Bofur was tired, sore, hungry, and sick of being anxious, of worrying. He wanted Nori back in his bed, wanted to feel arms around him and to wrap his own around Nori in turn. This was going to end, one way or another.

Nori seemed startled by the action and looked back at him in confusion. He made an aborted motion to reach for Bofur before dropping his hand to his side and looking away.

“Well?” Bofur bit out, glaring at him.

“Bofur…” Nori started, voice soft and broken. A moment later he was on his knees beside the copper tub, pulling Bofur into his arms as he tucked his forehead against the toymaker’s shoulder and neck. He clutched, fingers and blunt nails digging into Bofur’s back, and trembled against Bofur.

It wasn’t what Bofur had expected. He figured they’d have a grand old row, to good or ill. Seeing Nori like this was worse than the anger. “Shhhh,” he breathed into a peak of hair. “I’ve got you.” He wrapped strong arms around Nori and held him tightly.

“I can’t lose you, Bofur,” Nori said after several minutes. “If you have to go, I’m going with you.”

Bofur nuzzled at his temple, placing a gentle kiss there. “Are you sure, Nori? You don’t have to.”

“There won’t be anything left here for me, Bofur. My brothers… you, Bombur, and Bifur… The five of you are all I have in this world that means anything. I won’t stay behind while you go to face certain danger and likely your deaths. I won’t stay behind and never see your smile or hear your voice again.” Nori sat back and looked at Bofur with unguarded emotion. He looked vulnerable, broken… scared. Bofur pulled him back into his arms, holding him tight.

“Then we go together. We get the treasure, and we make a life of security and happiness for all of us. And if one of us should fall…” He shook his head, resting his forehead to Nori’s. “We won’t. Mahal won’t have us yet. I’ve got too much left to do with you, Nori, too many memories left to make. And not even a dragon will stop me.”

Nori laughed and kissed him. “Then to Erebor we go.” The rogue smiled at him. “But until then, you’re _not_ working in the mines. Look at all this dirt!” He looked at Bofur in disdain, and at that moment he resembled Dori so much that Bofur broke out in peals of uncontrollable laughter, much to Nori’s chagrin. Everything would be alright. They were together, and nothing was going to change that. Not now, not ever, even if Bofur had to follow Nori into death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It felt a little rushed to me there at the end, but I wasn't sure what else to do with it. As usual, not beta read. There shouldn't be any large mistakes... I hope.
> 
> Next chapter.... Thorin/Bofur


	10. Desire - Thorin/Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desire - This fiery dragon could help you feel more alive. Can you attain the object of your desire? If not, what happens within you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started a story for this one before I even published the last, and then I sat and stared and stared at it. Finally, I realized that I didn't like it, not for this at least, so I started over, months ago. I worked here and there on it, until finally it picked up a flow for me. I never imagined it'd take me this long to get it done, though. 
> 
> It's not beta read, but I did go back over it myself. I hope I caught everything, but probably not. 
> 
> Additionally, there is quite a bit of reference to a major, though canon, character death.

Thorin was ever aware of all the company around him. He knew where they were most of the time, what to expect of them, and what use they were to the quest. He tried to give each at least a little attention on occasion, even though they did not expect it. That didn’t mean most of his attention didn’t go to Balin and Dwalin or his nephews, or even the Hobbit.

Yet, it was when they came to Beorn’s that he realized another had taken his attention, too. As he recouped from the warg’s attack, despite insisting he was _fine_ , and the others relaxed, Thorin found himself looking for Bofur. The miner wasn’t the only Dwarf off somewhere doing their own thing, even the Hobbit was nowhere to be seen, but it was the jovial grin and warm, friendly voice that felt missing.

He didn’t get to think on it for long, soon enough his nephews and others taking his mind from it. Yet, as they left the peaceful home of the skin-changer, his eyes sought that lopsided grin for but a moment, as if to be certain it was there. Then, all attention was on Mirkwood and _Elves_.

Bofur never entered his attention again, not truly, until the river. The smile was gone, and some part of his mind supplied it’d been gone for a while save when forced to try to lighten the spirits of the princes or Hobbit. Deep down, it warmed a part of Thorin that the young Dwarf took time and effort for his nephews, which only made it harder for him to watch and be unable to return the kindness and do something for Bombur.

As king, he had to be strong.

By the time they left the wood, wet and chilled from the Hobbit’s clever escape plan, much had happened. Thorin thought of nothing but Erebor and finding a way to ensure their quest continued. Least ways, he didn’t until he found himself the target of Bofur’s spirit lifting attempts. He was at a loss for how to respond when the miner sat down and gave him a grin, immediately setting into telling some wild tale or another. Normally, he’d scoff and glare to be left alone; he’d even used such a ploy on his nephews not long before Bofur had approached.

And yet… And yet, he watched Bofur without a sound, listened to the lilt of his voice and watched the spark in his eye. With no recollection of it happening, he found himself smiling at the younger Dwarf.

Thorin lost himself to it, for a time. It was as he found himself comparing the miner’s smile to rare veins of mithril, brilliant and breathtaking and capable of making his heart stutter, and trying to think of a gem _worthy_ of standing up to the gleam and twinkle of Bofur’s flawless eyes that the king came to a startling revelation.

It must have showed on his face. The rich copper voice stopped its telling of the story and Bofur stared at him in what could only be confusion. “Is the story not to your liking?” He asked after a moment of silence.

How could Thorin know? He’d not listened to a word of it for the last several minutes, lost as he’d been in his thoughts. “The story’s fine,” he answered, voice a little rougher than usual.

Bofur looked skeptical. “Y’alright then?”

Thorin gave a nod. “Yes, do continue.” He tried to smile, but he could tell his effort fell short.

Giving a slightly dismissive shrug, the miner picked his story up where he’d left off. Thorin listened for the first few moments; soon realizing he’d already missed at least one important plot line and really had no idea what Bofur was talking about. His mind wandered a bit, but he knew that Bofur would notice if he didn’t at least seem to be paying attention.

So, he watched Bofur lose himself to his tale, hands moving about to emphasize several points and his teeth flashing in an ornery grin. Thorin gave a small smile. He envied the younger Dwarf, much as he did his nephews, the joy he found in life and the ability to share that joy with others. He envied them the freedom to choose.

After the story was told, Bofur pulled out his pipe, lighting it and giving a puff with a pleased smile. Thorin wasn’t too surprised when it was offered his way. Bofur was kind and generous, more so than most Dwarves, and especially with his friends. The king accepted without second thought, feeling honored to be considered a friend. He never once thought it was obligation to Bofur’s king; he knew that when he saw it for he’d seen it a lot in his many years, to his grandfather and to himself.

Then, it occurred to him as he passed the pipe back that his mouth had been where the miner’s had. Thorin had shared plenty of pipes in his life and not thought a thing about it. He shouldn’t have been hit with thoughts of his lips on Bofur’s, that the pipe was as close as he could come to doing so.

Scrubbing a hand against his face, Thorin felt it was time to call it a night, even if it was quite early. Bofur was presenting a dangerous distraction. There was too much ahead of them all for the king to let it go any further. He shoved the spark of attraction deep down and buried it under responsibility to the quest, the company, and his people.

After Lake-town, there was no time for thoughts of Bofur. The mountain, and its treasure, consumed Thorin. It was mostly all a blur, after the fact. Even the battle was a bit hazy, at first. Overtime, more came back to him through the pain of his injuries, and guilt set over the king.

When he was finally found and carried to a private healing tent, Thorin had resigned himself that he’d saved the Dwarves’ home but would not see it restored. He also knew he had a Hobbit to make amends with before returning to stone.  

Being told he would live was a mixed blessing. Thorin would see his home restored, he would be able to properly seek forgiveness from Bilbo, he would be able to turn his mind back to Bofur, but…

He knew when Balin and Bofur came to him that something was wrong, something terrible. Balin looked pained and Bofur, wonderful, beautiful Bofur still covered in orc blood, looked distraught as he twisted his hate in his hands. It wasn’t hard to guess what was wrong, and the joy he felt seeing Bofur well and whole was smothered by it.

“Fíli? Kíli?” He asked, voice cracking.

The two shared a look and stepped to either side of his makeshift bed. Balin looked him in the eye, hesitated a moment, then looked down. “Fíli is injured but will survive. Kíli…” He gave a small shake of his head.

Thorin stared forward, going numb inside. His nephew… His young, vibrant, brilliant heir… Fíli and Dís would be crushed, broken, and it was all Thorin’s fault. It should have been him. He was only vaguely aware when Balin left him, sinking further under the weight of grief and guilt.

Bofur’s hand on his shoulder drew his attention. He looked up, feeling part of himself crumble at the sympathy there. With a shaky hand, he covered Bofur’s with his own. “Bombur and Bifur?” He prayed to Mahal no other of the company was lost, that no one else would have to feel what he and Fíli must.

“They’re bruised but whole.” He gave the king’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You should be with them. Your family…”

Bofur cut him off. “I’m where I need to be.” He offered Thorin a small smile. “You should rest. Everyone needs their king.”

He couldn’t help but snort derisively. “Some king.”

“Hey now, none of that, you hear. You're a fine king and too good a Dwarf to go thinkin’ so poorly of yourself.” Bofur gave him a stern look, and any other time Thorin might have found getting scolded by such an ornery Dwarf amusing.

Thorin wished he had Bofur’s confidence in that. “Kíli was the light of our family. How can he be gone, how can I face Fíli or Dís? Why do the young ones with so much life ahead of them have to be lost? Why must our line…”

Bofur’s hand cupped his jaw, silencing him in surprise. “You still got family, an’ all your people. Know it don’t seem enough now, but we need you, the company, and so does Erebor. Kíli’d not want his death to do what nothin’ else could. Just… give it time.”

He closed his eyes. “I want to see Fíli.” Thorin needed to see his other nephew would be alright with his own eyes.

“Think healer’s with him now. See what I can do.” He removed his warm hand from Thorin’s face and moved away. “Bilbo’s waitin’ to see you. Skittish as a mouse in a hawk’s nest.”

The king wasn’t sure he was up to apologizing the way the Hobbit deserved, but he gave a nod. “Send him in.”

Bofur gave a small smile and left. A moment later, Bilbo entered the tent.

Thorin watched him, saddened by how closed off and withdrawn the Hobbit was. Of all the company, of all of Middle Earth, he King Under the Mountain had done the most wrong to this small, innocent creature. He’d wronged Bilbo, dishonored him and himself, and shamed the line of Durin. And, he had no idea how to fix it, how to even begin to make amends.

Bilbo shuffled forward when beckoned by Thorin’s hand, less hesitant with each step, until he came to Thorin’s side, standing taller than he had at the flap of the tent. A small, gentle hand took hold of the king’s, and sad, moist eyes rose to meet Thorin’s gaze with purpose. As the other small hand rested over the one Bilbo had taken grip of, he realized Bilbo was not there seeking apology or even to offer up forgiveness. No, the gentle, soft creature was only there to offer comfort.

The small hand seemed so fragile in his large battle and forge worn hand, but he did not hesitate to give it a firm squeeze of appreciation, as he could not find voice to say anything, with a growing lump in his throat. Bilbo truly was an amazing, selfless man, and Thorin could only hope to be allowed to call him friend.

“How are your injuries?” Bilbo finally spoke, not with platitudes he knew he’d hear often about the loss of Kíli but of something as close to benign as they could come without being silly.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak then had to clear his throat before trying again. “I will heal.”

“Good.” He offered a small smile. “Everyone’s been worried,” he said, trailing off in a way that led Thorin to believe he wasn’t sure if he should say what was on his mind. Bilbo’s gaze was assessing before he finally added, “especially Bofur.”

Whatever he could have expected, and there were many things, _that_ certainly never occurred to him. He couldn’t fathom why _Bofur_ would be that concerned, but then, he had seemed extra comforting when he’d come in with Balin, especially just before he’d left to check on Fíli.

Bilbo’s soft chuckle startled him, and his gaze shot to the Hobbit sharply, not even aware he’d turned his gaze to the opening of the tent. The Hobbit quickly lifted his free hand in sign of calm. “Sorry, sorry.” He put his hand back over Thorin’s. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

He frowned at the smaller creature. “See what?”

“The way you look at him. Well, obviously you don’t. You can’t see yourself, least not without a mirror, and you certainly don’t carry one around with you. Even if you did, if you were watching you, you couldn’t watch him, so you’d never see how you look when you do,” Bilbo rambled off. “Maybe a magical…”

“Halfling,” he cut the Hobbit off before he went further down some rather random tangent. He didn’t feel up to nonsense on most days and certainly not on this one.

“Sorry.” The expression could only be called sheepish. “My point… My point is he looks at you like that, has since Lake-Town.”

Thorin wasn’t sure what ‘like that’ meant, how he looked at Bofur. Yet, he knew _why_ he looked at Bofur, so he could guess. Thinking about it was a nice reprieve from everything else on his mind, but he couldn’t dwell. “Burg… _Bilbo_ ,” he said, settling his thoughts, “I have done much wrong by you.”

Bilbo fidgeted and looked down at their hands. “I’m the one that did wrong. You’ve no reason…”

“Don’t,” he silenced him. “I do. I could have… However bad the grievance, to have done such to you, who only ever acts selflessly, is a great shame. I would see it made right, whatever I must do.”

The Hobbit smiled at him. “You mustn’t do anything. We have regrets, both of us.” He patted Thorin’s hand. “Let’s just agree it is all past and start over, as friends.”

“Agreed,” the king said, humbled, and squeezed the hand in his, somewhat weakly. He could feel wariness seeping deep into him.

As if summoned, Óin pushed into the tent. He was covered in all manner of blood, but all of it appeared red. Thorin made note to honor the Dwarf for his hard work in saving as many lives as was possible. The healer walked over to him, without pause, looking stern. Somewhere, he’d gotten an ear horn with a strap, which was good as the king didn’t feel up to shouting, unsure if the bustle outside the tent would leave it required without the aid of the hearing device.

“You should be resting, lad,” Óin told him, sounding and looking put out that he wasn’t. King or not, Thorin was his patient and had no doubt Óin would treat him like any other that did not heed his instructions.

“Not yet,” he told him. “Not until…”

“Now, Thorin. Worked too hard to fix your ungrateful hide.” He crossed his arms and loomed over them, making Bilbo shift nervously.

“I should go. He’s right. You need to rest.” Bilbo pulled on his hand, trying to get from between the two Dwarves.

“Not yet.” He wasn’t resting until he at least had news of Fíli. It wasn’t enough to know he’d survive. Thorin needed more than that. And yet, he didn’t ask Óin, who would know best, even if he wasn’t the one to work on Fíli’s injuries. No, he wanted to hear from Bofur… It was illogical, but Thorin wasn’t of a mind to care.

Óin looked annoyed. “I’ll make you tea. _After_ , I expect you to rest.” Before Thorin could say anything, the other Dwarf was turned away and leaving.

Movement at his side drew his attention, and he looked to find Bilbo had stood. “Leaving as well, Mister Baggins?” He offered the Hobbit a trace of a smile.

“Yes, before he blames me for you not resting.” The Hobbit smiled.

Thorin chuckled. “Wise idea.” He released his hold on Bilbo’s hand and watched the Hobbit smile and leave.

Left to only his thoughts, the king soon found his spirits darkened and felt a painful tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the spear that had been thrust there in battle.

In the still and silence of his tent, where no eyes could see and the sounds outside would leave no ears to listen, Thorin wept. He wept with no care Óin would soon return, that any of his trusted company might enter, for no other save Dain would dare, and his cousin would understand.

He was still crying quietly when Óin did return, the healer’s scowl softening at the state of his king, his friend. Any other time, Thorin may have been annoyed by any show of pity, but he didn’t care as a large, warm hand settled on his shoulder. Wiping his eyes, he looked up at the healer, intending to thank him. Before he could, Bofur came into the tent unannounced.

Immediately, Thorin’s attention was focused on the miner, wanting any news of Fíli. He watched his approach with barely contained impatience.

“Bilbo said you weren’t going to listen to Óin til I come back.” Bofur smiled and shook his head. He pulled a handkerchief, a present from Bilbo in Lake-Town for the kindness that the miner had shown in giving over his pocket at the start of their journey, out of his pocket and wiped at Thorin’s face without missing a beat. “Fíli’s restin’, like a good Dwarf,” he said, a teasing note of chastisement in his tone.

Thorin looked at him flatly. A quip about Bofur acting like a mother was right on the tip of his tongue, but he had more pressing interests. “How _is_ he?”

There was a small huff from Óin, who muttered about not having been asked, when he had treated the boy.

“He’s lost some blood and he’ll take time to heal, but he’ll be fine, just a little scarred.” Bofur looked down at him with a serious expression on his face. “Now listen to Óin, or I’ll get Dwalin.” It wasn’t an idle threat, and Thorin knew Dwalin would thump him over the head if he didn’t rest on his own, injured king or not.

Heaving a sigh, the king looked to the other Dwarf and held a hand out for his tea. It smelled of peat and mildew and bark, and it had a bitter flavor that left Thorin’s tongue nearly numb and flooded his mouth with copious amounts of saliva. His body gave an involuntary shudder, but he downed it all, without comment or fuss, even as his stomach spasmed in an attempt to keep the fluid out.

Óin took the cup from his fingers, checked for fever and his bandages, and then left them alone.

The tea was potent and fast; Thorin felt his eyes droop and the sounds of camp became muffled. He was aware of Bofur tucking his covers and brushing back his hair, but he was so close to sleep that it might have been imagination.

* * *

Thorin didn’t rouse until late the next evening. At first, he was disoriented, then a moment later in pain. A large gentle hand rested on his brow as he shifted and groaned. His eyes shot open at the contact. Gandalf stared down at him, eyes concerned and assessing.

The king tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. A stone cup was placed to his lips, and he readily drank the water offered to him, groaning when it was moved away. A second later it was back again, and he took another drink.

“You will heal,” Gandalf spoke, as if his word alone meant the difference. “I was uncertain for a time. Your fate was in shadow for much of your quest.”

The Dwarf grunted softly. Part of him wished still that he had not survived, that he would not. He raised one hand and took the stone cup from the wizard’s hand, feeling weaker than he’d ever admit as it took more effort than he expected to hold onto.

“Your company and people are happy.” Gandalf folded his hands in his lap, watching Thorin. “You only feel your loss. I am sorry about Kíli, Thorin.”

“As am I, wizard,” he said, voice rough. “As am I.” His guilt weighed down on him. “What of Fíli?” There was no doubt that Gandalf _knew_ how Fíli was, whether he would answer, and clearly, was to be seen.

“He is still unconscious. Bilbo sits with him now. They are taking turns with both of you.”

Thorin felt a chill set deep inside. “He has never woke?” They had said he would survive, but if he never woke.

Gandalf’s hand was gentle on his own. “Be at ease. He _will_.” Again, his voice held so much confidence and surety that it was like the wizard’s word would make it so.

The king found it hard to have confidence. Fíli was all he had left. “How can you be so certain?”

“I know,” he answered simply, giving a tiny shrug. “Trust me.”

Trust was hard for Thorin, and Gandalf made it harder at times with his secrecy and talking in riddles, but the king nodded. He would try. The wizard would never lie about something so serious. “Very well,” he conceded, eyes going to the cup in his hand.

“Óin will want to see you.” Gandalf watched him for a moment before giving his arm a pat and standing.

Thorin watched him go, finishing the water in his cup before dropping it down beside his bed. He rested his head back and waited. It wouldn’t take long. Óin was diligent, and would likely bring more of his cursed tea, but Thorin didn’t want to sleep so soon. There were questions that needed answered, questions that a king needed to ask despite his personal grief.

Moments later, Óin did enter, followed closely by the sons of Fundin. He gave the three of them a faint smile. It did good to see them well, and it was his first chance to see Dwalin since the battle. Soon, once Fíli was awake and capable, the company would have to gather, just the _thirteen_ of them. He felt a pang at the number but pushed beyond it, focusing on his friends.

“You look better than when we peeled you from the field.” Dwalin looked very pleased as he walked over to stand at the foot of Thorin’s bed.

“I’m not sure I feel better.” He winced as Óin started prodding without as much as a greeting or warning.

His two closest confidants and advisors laughed, a little. “S’good to see, laddie.” Balin smiled, if a little sadly. They were feeling the loss, too, Thorin knew. They’d taught and trained Kíli almost as much as he had, more so perhaps, at times.

“How are the rest?” Thorin winced again and shot Óin a small glare. “What are the losses of Dain’s army?”

Balin sighed. “Heavy, but it could have been far worse, if we’d been on the field alone.” Balin looked grim. “The company is well, tired and concerned but alive and unharmed, save you and Fíli. The worst besides is Dori’s broken arm. Ori’s proving to be as fussy as Dori.” He shook his head.

“Dain is anxious to have counsel with you.” Dwalin looked pensive. Thorin wasn’t sure if it was to do with Dain or if Dwalin was just feeling irritable in general.

“Later,” Óin informed them. “Thorin needs rest not headache. Now, hold him up so I can change his bandages.”

Dwalin didn’t argue, moving forward to hold the king upright. Thorin’s head spun from the motion and he groaned, afraid for a moment he might be sick. Balin moved to Óin’s side to hand him things and take things from him, making the process as fast as they could.

“One of the Elven healers would like to look you over,” Balin mentioned. Óin grunted, insulted probably to think an Elf could do better, but Balin ignored him. “They have magic, Thorin, which might help. Gandalf said he did what he could but he’s no healer.”

“Let Óin see to it. If they Elves want to help, have them help Fíli.” He’d do anything, even deal with cursed Elves, to help his nephew. The look that passed between the sons of Fundin was almost lost on him as his head spun again, but not quite. “What?” He grunted.

“They are already helping with Fíli,” Balin spoke, again ignoring a grunt from Óin. “You can’t be everywhere at once, Óin.”

“They’re never alone with him. Nori usually stands guard when they’re in there, or Bifur,” Dwalin assured him. Thorin was a little surprised it wasn’t Dwalin standing guard with a fixed glower on his face.

“Dwalin tried,” Balin said, as if knowing what he was thinking. “He caused too much trouble.” He shot his brother a look. “Bilbo dragged him away… by his beard.”

Thorin winced. The Hobbit was not to know that was a quick way to start a fight between Dwarves; that one shouldn’t tug on another’s beard unless they wanted to pay great insult. “I’m sure he meant no harm.”

“Oh, I think Dwalin _liked_ it.” Balin smirked, eyes dancing under bushy brows. He chuckled when Dwalin scowled at him and flushed, looking away from them both. Thorin hadn’t considered _that_. Beard pulling could lead to more carnal things as well, in the right situation. He supposed Bilbo was feisty enough for Dwalin’s interest.

“You should speak with the Hobbit, then,” he told Dwalin. “Before he leaves.” It was hard to think that their burglar would leave them, but he had no reason to stay and every reason to go.

“I won’t.” Dwalin looked set on that. “You’re not one should go giving advice on such matters.” He scowled at Thorin. “Can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

Thorin sighed, but before he could speak Óin was pouring something on his side that felt like molten iron and he let out a string of curses that impressed even Dwalin. “A warning would be nice,” he hissed out between his teeth.

“Wouldn’t hurt any less,” Óin informed him, smearing some pungent greenish brown poultice on the wounds before putting leaves over it and wrapping bandages back around him. The healer motioned Dwalin to ease Thorin back down. “Finish your talk. I’ll be bringing you something light to eat and your tea and you _will_ rest afterward.” Óin left them quickly.

Balin chuckled. “Best listen to him, laddie. You don’t want to make him cross.”

Thorin grunted softly and closed his eyes. He was glad to be prone again. “He’s always cross.” He opened his eyes and looked up at them. “Tell Dain I will see him the moment Óin will let him in the tent without tossing him right back out.” He slid his gaze to Dwalin. “I’m not blind, but now isn’t the time. I… I need to grieve and deal with far too much.”

Dwalin snorted. “Now is exactly the time, but it’s your choice. I’ll deal with Dain.”

“You will not. You’re as diplomatic as an Oliphant, stepping on whatever irritates you. _I’ll_ deal with Dain.” Balin gave Dwalin a stern look.

“You can both deal with Dain.” Thorin closed his eyes again.

“Aye, laddie.” Balin smiled. “We’ll leave you to rest.”

Thorin grunted, listening to them go. He felt himself drifting toward sleep again when he heard the approach of footsteps and the smell of food. His stomach both growled and churned in mixed reaction. Opening his eyes, he blinked at finding Bofur carrying his meal, not Óin. “Bofur,” he said, not sure what else to say. It relieved him to see the other Dwarf but he’d never been great with small talk. It was good that Bofur was good enough for the both of them.

“Óin said you’re to eat it all, if you can.” He sat down on a stool beside the bed. “Can you… or do you need me to…” He held up the spoon and gave it a little wave.

“Prop me up a little and I will try.” If he couldn’t feed himself he might as well lie down and die.

Bofur set the bowl and spoon aside and used some extra furs to prop Thorin up enough to make eating somewhat easier. He then rested the bowl into the king’s hands before sitting down. “Just some broth, but with Bombur and Bilbo fussing over it figure it’s better than anything the rest of us are eating.” He smiled at him. “Bilbo insists it’s the best thing both sides of the Misty Mountains for whatever ails you.”

“Thank you.” Thorin slowly lifted the spoon to his lips to taste it. The flavor was deep and robust with just a hint of spice to it. Broth wasn’t an adequate name for it. “It is very good. Give them my thanks.”

The younger Dwarf looked up from fussing with a pipe. “Course.” He grinned. “They’ll be glad to hear you like it.”

Thorin hummed and focused on spooning the liquid into his mouth. It would be much simpler to lift the bowl and drink from it, but he wasn’t sure his hands would remain steady enough. He glanced up when he smelled the fruity woody scent of Bofur’s tobacco. He was curious what sort of leaf it was but didn’t ask. Bofur had his eyes closed and his head tilted back. Thorin could see how tired the other Dwarf looked, and he wondered how much rest Bofur was getting.

Neither one of them spoke as Thorin ate his meal, managing, if barely, to get down every last drop. Bofur smoked his pipe quietly; only his act of doing so let Thorin know that the young Dwarf was actually awake and not dozed off where he sat. Gingerly, he leaned over and rested the small bowl on the ground, drawing the miner’s attention.

“Easy.” Bofur moved to help him straighten back up. “Óin gave me the bits of leaf and bark to make his tea. You need to have some.” He pulled a pouch out of his pocket. “I’ll go get the water.” He bent down and gathered up the cup and bowl there. “Won’t be long.” He handed his pipe to Thorin. “Don’t go telling Óin.” He winked with a broad grin then turned and left.

Thorin was happy for the offer, and the calming effect of the leaf Bofur was smoking. It wasn’t Dwarven, Thorin knew that much, but he couldn’t place where it had come from. He took a couple long, slow draws of smoke then looked at the pipe.

The pipe wasn’t the same one they’d shared at Beorn’s, but it was similar in size and shape. He looked it over, seeing the small tool marks along its smooth surface. Bofur had carved them both, he realized. This one, however, had Erebor carved into the side of the shape and a fine swirl of filigree swirled along the shank and up the saddle and stem, getting smaller and finer the smaller the stem became. It was delicate work and well done, showing the control and gentleness of Bofur’s hand. The sheer skill was amazing, and it took Thorin’s breath away.

He noticed, though, that there was a blank area open next to the carving of Erebor. Bofur must have left it empty for a reason with the rest of the pipe so intricately designed. He looked up as he heard the other Dwarf come back in with a small copper kettle and a cup for the tea. “This is fine work, Bofur.”

The younger Dwarf actually looked embarrassed, though Thorin couldn’t understand why. “Thanks. Been working on it since Lake-town.” He sat the kettle and cup down, picking up the pouch he’d left on the makeshift table beside Thorin’s makeshift bed. He poured the water over the leaves and left them to steep for the moment.

“It’s not finished,” he commented, running his thumb over the small blank place.

Bofur sat down. “Not yet.” He smiled, again looking almost shy about it. “Still need to finish the carving and add some finishing touches.” He tilted his head a little. “You like it then?”

Thorin looked down at it again, weighing it in his hand. It was just the right size for a good pipe, fit nicely in his grip and the stem wasn’t too long or too short. “Aye. It’s a fine pipe. You do good work.”

The younger Dwarf’s face lit up and wrinkled in a broad grin. “Can’t have idle hands. I’m glad you like it. First time it’s been used. Wanted to make sure it did alright.”

He gave a nod, handing it back to Bofur, who tapped it out then turned it over in his hands before putting it inside his coat. Thorin closed his eyes and rested his head back, waiting on the cursed tea. He didn’t have to wait long, hearing Bofur stand and check it before moving back over the single step to Thorin’s side. The king opened his eyes and looked up at him.

Bofur laughed. “You haven’t even drunk it yet, and you’re already grimacing. Can’t be bad as all that.” He held the cup out to him, steadying it with his hands over Thorin’s before his hands slipped away with a brush of rough fingertip over the backs of the king’s hands.

“You drink it, then,” Thorin told him before taking a drink of the bitter fluid. The broth he’d had earlier churned with his stomach, but he held it down as he quickly finished the tea. Body giving an involuntary shudder, he handed the empty cup to Bofur.

The miner took it and set it aside before rearranging Thorin so he wasn’t propped up so high. “Rest better this way,” he said as he pulled and tucked at the fur lying over Thorin’s body.

Thorin blinked at him, already feeling the pull of rest. He really had to ask Óin what was in there that knocked him out so fast. He felt that light brush to his hair he had the last time, and it soothed him into his slumber.

* * *

A few more days passed in this fashion, Thorin getting stronger each day. He sat up more and took more visits from the company and Gandalf; though Balin and Dwalin were often close at hand to chase them away when Thorin began to tire, as was the Hobbit when he did not sit with Fíli.

Thankfully, as far as Thorin knew, he’d tugged at no one else’s beard save Dwalin’s. He’d have to look into that further, see if his old friend had talked to the Hobbit like he’d been told. Bilbo, Bofur had told him, had been fast to get into Dain’s personal space when he’d made a rather jesting if crude remark toward Dwalin. Like the rest of the Dwarves, Dain hadn’t known what to do with an angry Halfling. You never knew if you should sooth it or get out of its way, like prickly house cats he’d seen in the towns of men.

Bofur brought him all of his meals, and Óin or Bofur one was always there to give Thorin tea when it was time for him to rest. Neither seemed to care if the king thought he needed the rest or not. In fact, none of the company seemed overly concerned with the fact that Thorin was their king, and he couldn’t find it in himself to be more than mildly frustrated by the fact, more because he didn’t get his way than they were not obeying his every whim.

Five days after the battle, Bofur came rushing into his tent in the afternoon, not too long after having brought Thorin his midday meal, bouncing with excitement. Before Thorin could form thought, the miner rushed to his side. “He’s awake!” He announced without any preamble.

Thorin reached out and gripped his arm desperately, throat working but no sound coming forth. Luckily, Bofur seemed to know what it was he needed. A gentle hand rested over his, and Bofur gave a small squeeze. “He’s fine, far as anyone can tell, just took his time in wakin’ up. The Elves are going to move him in here, with you. We all think it’d be best for both of you.” The miner paused and licked his lips slowly. “No one’s talked of Kíli yet,” he said softly.

He felt his chest ache, and he gripped at Bofur’s arm all the harder, bruisingly even as his hand trembled. “It will be best from me.” He gave a nod. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but he would not be a coward and pass the task to another.

“Company wants to be here.” Bofur stroked the back of Thorin’s hand in a soothing gesture.

“No.” He took a deep breath. “We should be alone. No one needs to see him fall apart.” Fíli was their prince.

“None of that now. We’ve been through too much together. You don’t think we’d judge the lad, judge you?” He frowned at Thorin in a way that was clearly disappointed. The king didn’t like the way it made him feel like a Dwarfling being chastised.

He thought a moment. “Everyone can wait outside until I tell him. I just want a moment alone with him.”

Bofur gave a nod. “I’ll let everyone know.” He gave Thorin’s hand a pat. “Dori and Óin should be in to make him a place to rest. I’ll see to the others.”

“Thank you, Bofur.” He let go of the younger Dwarf’s arm and settled back against the furs behind him, waiting anxiously to see his nephew.

Óin and Dori, who seemed to work just as well with one mobile arm as two, came in several minutes later carrying furs and straw, making a bed not too far from Thorin’s for Fíli to use. They didn’t disturb the king, setting to the task quickly before going back out again. Only a few minutes later did one of the Elves, irritably Thranduil’s _son_ , enter with Fíli in his arms.

Fíli was pale against the Elf’s clothing and even more so the dark furs he was gently placed upon. The Elven prince covered him with care before nodding to Thorin and taking his leave, gaze lingering a moment on Fíli before he departed.

The king shifted to better see his sister son and found Fíli looking back at him with a sunken tired eye. The other side of his head was wrapped in bandages. A head wound that must have caused his long sleep. “Hello, Uncle,” he spoke softly, trying to smile but falling short.

“Fíli.” Thorin wanted to touch, to hold him, but he wasn’t sure he could make it to him without falling on his face. He honestly didn’t want to deal with the half dozen people that would feel the need to chastise and growl at him should he. So, he stayed in place and reached out as far as he could, smiling when a hand grasped his in a weak grip.

“Uncle… I… I saw Kíli fall. Did he… is he…” There was anguish in Fíli’s tired tones, and Thorin realized that Fíli already feared the worst. What he wouldn’t give to be able to give him good news!

Thorin squeezed his hand tightly. “I am sorry, Fíli. You have no idea what I would give were it not so.”  

“It is not your fault, Uncle,” he breathed. Thorin saw a tear slip from his eye, followed by another. Falling be damned, he got himself up right and stumbled over to fall into the furs beside his nephew, pulling him tightly into his arms. He ignored the pain to his own wounds as he did so. Fíli burrowed into him and sobbed quietly.

The king stroked his nephew’s hair and back, making soothing sounds and giving him reassuring words. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do.

When Fíli pulled away, Thorin kissed his forehead the way he had when the boys were Dwarflings. He received a faint but true smile. “Are you ready to face the company?” A nod was his answer, so Thorin gently laid his brow to Fíli’s then turned to the tent opening. “Óin, Bofur!” He called.

Bofur was first to enter, followed by Balin then Óin and Bilbo. The rest hesitated behind Dwalin until Thorin motioned them in as well.

Óin looked cross at the king. “Get him back to bed,” he ordered the others.

Dwalin and Dori helped Thorin back to his resting place, Bofur moving forward to fuss over him to get him comfortable. Thorin didn’t miss the smirk being thrown at him by the bald Dwarf before Dwalin moved away. He ignored it, watching the miner. “I’m fine, Bofur, thank you,” he told him after a moment.

Bofur paused, as if just realizing what he was doing. “Right,” he said, backing away a step and giving a sheepish smile.

Thorin gave him a small smile then glanced around at the others. Bilbo was beside Fíli, helping the young Dwarf steady a cup of water. The others were spread here and there around the tent, leaving it a bit cramped. Of note to Thorin was how close Dwalin stood next to Bilbo. He gave his old friend a smirk of his own, which received an eye roll.

“It is good to see all of you well,” Thorin gave them all a tired smile. They returned it with smiles and nods of their own, though there was a shadow of grief on all of them.

The group spent a few hours together away from the bustle outside. For that moment in time, it was just them, as it had been for so many months. Softly, Thorin began to hum and a few of the others joined him. It was Bofur who finally began to sing.

 

_“Under the Mountain dark and tall_

_The King has come unto his hall!_

_His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,_

_And ever so his foes shall fall._

_The sword is sharp, the spear is long,_

_The arrow swift, the Gate is strong;_

_The heart is bold that looks on gold;_

_The Dwarves no more shall suffer wrong._

_The Dwarves of yore made mighty spells,_

_While hammers fell like ringing bells_

_In places deep, where dark things sleep,_

_In hollow halls beneath the fells._

_On silver necklaces they strung_

_The light of stars, on crowns they hung_

_The dragon-fire, from twisted wire_

_The melody of harps they wrung._

_The mountain throne once more is freed!_

_O! wandering folk, the summons heed!_

_Come haste! Come haste! across the waste!_

_The king of friend and kin has need._

_Now call we over mountains cold,_

_‘Come back unto the caverns old’!_

_Here at the Gates the king awaits,_

_His hands are rich with gems and gold._

_The king is come unto his hall_

_Under the Mountain dark and tall._

_The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,_

_And ever so our foes shall fall!”_

 

Silence fell, and they realized after a moment it was quiet outside the tent as well. Thorin opened his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them, and looked at Bofur. He offered a small, sad smile of gratitude. It warmed him to see Bofur smile back.

“Alright. It’s time for them to rest. Everyone, out. Bofur, get the king his tea,” Óin ordered as he ushered Dwarrows out of the tent.

Bofur moved into action, rushing from the tent around their slower moving friends. When he came back, Óin snagged a cup, as he was carrying two, and poured water in it before pushing him toward Thorin. The king chuckled despite everything at the eye roll this earned the healer. “Don’t gotta be so pushy,” Bofur quipped as he walked over to Thorin. “Make me burn myself and then you’ll have another patient.”

Óin snorted. “If a little hot water is all it takes to injure you, then you can suffer for not being careful.” He steeped leaves for Fíli’s tea, back toward them.

Thorin shook his head and held a hand out for the cup. “I’ll hold it steady for you, Bofur,” he told him, tone as light as he could manage.

Bofur laughed softly and handed the cup over. “Thank you kindly, Your Majesty.” He gave Thorin a wink and dropped some leaves into the cup before carefully pouring water over them so as not to spill a drop.

Thorin held it as the tea steeped, watching Bofur set the kettle aside and Óin fuss about Fíli. Even without the tea, he was feeling drowsy, and all the sleeping was really starting to irritate him. He had people to see to, a mountain to rebuild. It would take decades to fix all the damage that Smaug had caused, perhaps even longer than the life he had left him. And… And he had allies to thank and wrongs to right. Kings were not meant for bed rest. If he was not able to move soon, he’d have to swallow more of his pride and have Thranduil and Bard meet him where he lay.

“Drink your tea, Thorin. Whatever you’re scowling at can wait.” Bofur’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see the other Dwarf sitting on the stool beside his bed. He was sharpening a small knife that he used in his wood work.

Listening to Bofur was becoming second nature after days of being left mostly to the younger Dwarf’s care. So, Thorin obeyed, knowing it needed done and already tired. He drank it down quickly and handed the cup off to the miner. He closed his eyes. Relieved Fíli was awake and near, he fell into a somewhat peaceful sleep.

Days passed after that. One bled into another at first, but after just over a week, Thorin was ready to sit up and deal with kingly duty. This started with Dain. The first meeting was brief and the second only somewhat longer. Balin had been doing fine, and there wasn’t a great deal for the cousins to discuss, officially. So they spoke of battle and family and the future.

Bard was his next guest, coming between Dain’s first and second visits. Again, Balin had proven himself invaluable and most of the plans to rebuild Dale had been discussed. Thorin again swore oath to see the humans repaid, this time mind clear and sincere. He also swallowed his pride and asked forgiveness, telling Bard to let him _earn_ it.

When time came to see the Elven King, Thorin knew he should but could not do so alone. He summoned Balin to him, unsurprised when Dwalin followed him. It was only a minor shock to see their Hobbit behind the warrior. Bofur he did not expect, but the jovial Dwarf was there, near at hand, as Thorin had realized Bofur almost always had been from the start of the journey.

Bilbo sat with Fíli, who was dozing on his furs after a morning out and about in camp, while Dwalin and Balin moved to stand near Thorin’s side. For a moment, Bofur lingered near the entrance. Then, he moved to slip around to Thorin’s other side, sitting down on the end of the pile of furs Thorin called his bed. He’d be out of the way there yet still close. Thorin imagined the rest of the company was probably just outside, and he felt warmth in his chest for it. These Dwarves and one Hobbit were the most loyal creatures he’d ever known and as he’d told Balin once what seemed so very long before, he’d take them over any number of the others.

It was the red headed guard captain that entered the tent first, holding the tent open for her king to duck down and enter. The prince was behind him. And what did it say of two kings when they felt need of others at their sides just to be in one another’s presence? Thorin was glad to know it wasn’t just him that wanted a calming presence, not that he expected _Dwalin_ to be any help in that regard, and someone to bear witness to whatever transpired.

Thranduil’s eyes raked over the six of them, nodding a small nod to Bilbo before resting his eyes on Fíli. They only lingered a moment before sweeping over Dwalin and Balin, who he was no doubt quite familiar with. As always, the Elf king’s eyes were piercing, but the vacant gleam that had graced them the last time they’d shared words was gone. Thorin in no way would call them warm, but they weren’t so emotionless.

The Dwarf king shifted as the eyes moved to Bofur, and there was the faintest of twitches to Thranduil’s lips before he looked to Thorin and met his gaze. “My condolences, Thorin Oakenshield, on the loss of your kin.”

That was certainly not the first thing he expected to come from the Elf’s lips. Thorin dipped his head in gratitude and acknowledgement. “Thank you, you do me honor with your words.” Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Bilbo roll his eyes even as he heard the small huff from the Hobbit. Hobbit’s had no use for kings and the stoicism involved in such matters. Thorin envied them that.

Thranduil’s eyes went to the Hobbit, and Thorin was certain he did see a spark of warmth in the stark blue depths.

Bilbo, noticing the attention shifted to him, flushed and fidgeted. “Don’t mind me,” he spoke.

Thorin chuckled. “One can hardly ignore you, Master Baggins, Hobbit or not.” He smiled at his friend. “Perhaps you’d care to ask Dori to see we all have tea, if that is acceptable to our guests.” He looked up at Thranduil. The offer was extended, and it would be rude of the Elf to decline.

There was hesitation, though, before Thranduil finally gave a small nod. “Yes, that would be most kind, Mister Baggins.”

Bilbo hopped up and rushed off to his task, grumbling about not being an errand boy, but Thorin knew he was happy to have something to do, happy being useful. Dori would feel much the same, always happy to fuss about a tea service, and probably complaining about not having the proper cups and kettle to do it the way it should be done.

Thorin shifted to get more comfortable, ignoring Bofur getting up to help him without being asked. “Shall we dispense with business before the tea arrives, or should I worry it would be wasted on sour stomachs?” He asked the Elven King.

“My people will be returning to our kingdom soon.” Thranduil looked down at him. “The sooner this is done, the better.”

“I’ve had the box of gems you want found. It will be brought to you. I cannot give enough gold to compensate for the loss of life; it would be an impossible task and a cold gesture.” Thorin watched him. “However, I would see us allies again. Perhaps not this day, it is too soon, but in the future. Between Bilbo and Gandalf, I have reason to believe that the day may come when we will have to stand together again, or face much worse than the battle we just barely won.”

Thranduil pursed his lips slightly then thinned them out into a faint, pale line. “Yes. On that day, you can rely on the Elves.”

“When the mountain is truly ours and functioning again, we would be open to trade with your people.” Thorin knew things would never be as they once had been, but if they would be better or worse was yet to be seen. He knew recently they’d been much worse, but he had to work to make it better. He would leave a better kingdom for Fíli than was left to him.

The Elf tilted his head and gazed at him unblinkingly for several seconds. “We will discuss the matter at that time,” he finally said. He moved his hand and the She-Elf stepped forward, bending to one knee and holding out a bundle she’d had across her back.

With a small frown, Thorin reached out for it, slowly unveiling it to find Orcrist resting inside. He looked up at Thranduil, surprised. The blade, he was certain, was lost to him forever. He pulled it from the cloth and rested it across his lap, uncertain what to say.

“The sword is yours, King Under the Mountain,” Thranduil spoke. “Mithrandir has assured me it could find no better hands to wield it.”

He swallowed a bit thickly. “Thank you, for returning it.” He stroked a hand down the sheath. It was strange he’d miss something so simple, something of Elven make.

Thranduil only gave a slight not to acknowledge the words. A moment later, Bilbo came back with a tray and several cups of teach, which he passed out with a bright, friendly smile. “Thank you, Mister Baggins.” Thranduil dipped his head again.

“Everyone should enjoy at least one good cup of tea a day, though I’m rather partial to a few.” He smiled up at the Elf king.

“Indeed.” Thranduil sounded, and even looked, amused as he gazed down at the tiny creature that was Bilbo Baggins. “I will keep those wise words in mind, Pentithen.” He rested a hand briefly on Bilbo’s curls, which seemed to delight the Hobbit no end. Dwalin didn’t seem quite as pleased by it as he shifted on his feet and scowled at the king.

“Behave,” Bilbo told him as he carried the last of the tea over to the warrior before sitting with his own and a cup for Fíli that he placed carefully on the tray on the ground.

Dwalin grunted and sipped his tea, a free hand falling to rest on the Hobbit’s shoulder. He scowled at any and all amused glances cast his way, either by his own king or the Elven prince.

They were all silent as the tea was drank then the guard captain took the cups from her prince and king and left the tent. Thranduil regarded Thorin a moment then turned to go. “We will speak again, King Under the Mountain, once you have settled in your halls.”

Thorin watched his back, appreciating the gesture for what it was though the prince’s eyes were still trained on him to defend his father. It wasn’t like Thorin had strength to attack if he’d wanted to, but he saw it for the small concession it was. “I await the day,” he spoke, and then the Elves made their leave.

Not a moment later the rest of the company pushed into the tent, though they didn’t seem all that inquisitive as to what had happened. Nori gave the king a wink, and that was all he needed to know as to why. Smiling, he motioned them all to make themselves comfortable then eased back against his furs and closed his eyes.

A whine from across the tent told him that Fíli was awake, and that Óin was poking and prodding at him. He ignored the sound, relieved that the talk with Thranduil was out of the way and he could focus completely on his people, on his mountain… on seeing his nephew had a proper funeral. No doubt he’d already been buried, it had been near two weeks since the battle and bodies did not last long even in the chill of winter unless properly stored. Balin would have done right by a prince of Erebor, even if the king and heir could not be present at the time. Still, it hurt to know that Kíli had to go to stone alone, without his closest kin to see him entombed.

Thorin jerked as the cup in his hand was gently plucked from his grasp. He’d forgotten he was even holding it. He opened his eyes to find Bofur giving him a kind smile before he carefully leaned across the king and set the tea on the bit of wood passing as a table. “You were about to have a wet lap,” the miner told him. “You tired, want everyone to clear out so you can get some rest?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re fine.” He liked having them around. It meant not having to think too much, even that had been what he was doing.

Bofur rested a hand over the king’s. “I’m sure Óin’s gonna have a different opinion on that.” He smiled and gave Thorin’s hand a pat. “You were looking pained, moment ago. Need your healing tea? Nap wouldn’t hurt before supper.”

The miner had a point, he was in some pain though most of it wasn’t physical, and he caught concerned gazes from some of the others. “Diluted. I don’t want to be passed out until morning.”  The smile from Bofur was blinding. Thorin watched him carefully move around the pile of furs then rush out of the tent for more hot water. He honestly wasn’t sure what he would have done, if he’d been coping so well, if not for the bright smiles and gentle care of the other dwarf.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts, and he looked up to find Balin smiling down at him. His advisor didn’t say anything, but the twinkle in his eye was telling enough and Thorin flushed a little and looked down at his lap like a young dwarf lad that just discovered what that bit of flesh between his legs was for.

Balin chuckled at him and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. “It’s good he keeps you from brooding. You’ve brooder too much in your life, Thorin.”

“Now’s not the time, Balin. I have responsibilities, far too many: the mountain, the company, our people, Fíli… Kíli.” Thorin shook his head. I don’t have the luxury to…” His words cut off as he felt a cuff to the back of his head. Only Balin and Dwalin would _dare_ , and he looked up at Balin in shock. He was only vaguely aware that the tent had gone completely silent and all eyes were on them.

“For once in your life, think about yourself. Everything else can take care of itself, and Kíli would want you to be happy.” Balin gave him the same stern look Thorin had seen leveled on his nephews most of their lives, but it did little to sway him.

Before he could protest, though, Fíli spoke up, “He’s right, Uncle. Kíli would. I do.” He suddenly smirked at him. “And, if you don’t do this, for yourself and for Bofur, I’m going to tell mother.” That earned chuckles from Balin and a deep laugh from Dwalin.

Thorin scowled at all of them, but especially his nephew. “I cannot…” He started to say before he found a rather large soup ladle pointed at his nose.

“You may be our king, but that’s my brother,” Bombur informed him. “You don’t go breakin’ him.” A grunt and scowl from Bifur reinforced this sentiment. “He ain’t taken care of you because he has to or because no one else wants to do it. He ain’t doin’ it for no reason but he wants to, cause he cares bout you.”

“We all see it, Thorin,” the Hobbit spoke up. “We’ve seen it for a long time, before either one of you noticed, I think. It’s time one of you did something about it. You’re the king. Shouldn’t you be the bigger Dwarf?” He smirked, knowing just what words would push Thorin to do just what he wanted, damn crafty Halfling.

“Fine.” He scowled all the harder at them. “Fine, but not yet. When I’m _ready_. Now leave me be!” He didn’t care he sounded, and probably looked, petulant in that moment as he crossed his arms and try to glare hard enough at the lot of them to set them ablaze.

“What’s this now?” Bofur questioned as he came back in, blinking at the irate king and the circle of their friends all looking at him with various expressions on their faces.

“It’s nothing.” Bilbo smiled at him. “Someone’s just being grumpy. I think he really does need that tea.” Thorin’s glare settled on the Hobbit.

Bofur chuckled softly. “Now, don’t go back to that. I swear with the two of you it’s one step forward and a dozen back.” He walked over to the king, oblivious to everyone else and their chuckling, it seemed, and rinsed out the cup Thorin had been using not long before. He then put some of the healing mixture into it and poured water over the bits of leaf and bark.

The king sighed and rested his head back, closing his eyes as he waited on the tea. The others were right, of course. There was no denying his attraction to the miner, his desire for him in more ways than one. But, it was hard, putting himself before his people and the mountain. As much as he cared for Bofur, it was hard to put him first as well. Only with time was he going to be able to figure out how to take the time to try to be happy. He wasn’t even sure he knew what happy was anymore.

Thorin woke a few hours later to the gentle insistence of Bofur at his side. It took him a moment to realize that time had passed at all, and that he’d actually fallen asleep without the aid of Óin’s infernal tea. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes then looked up at Bofur, who was apparently the only other soul in the tent. Fíli was probably off somewhere with one of the others; it’d become hard to keep him resting since he’d become more mobile. Thorin envied him that.

Bofur rested a small tray, which they’d scared up somewhere over a week ago to feed the king on, into Thorin’s lap and then sat on the stool beside him. He didn’t say a word, just pulled out the pipe he’d been putting the finishing touches on for the last week or so. From what Thorin could tell, it appeared to be finished, though Bofur didn’t move to pack or light it. He simply held it, staring at the dark wood and running a thumb over the side of the shape that had been blank before.

The miner was worrying his lip between his teeth, Thorin noticed. Something was weighing heavily on his mind. Setting down the bread he’d been about to tear a chunk from, Thorin put his full attention on the younger Dwarf. “Bofur, what troubles you?”

The break in the silence startled Bofur, and he nearly dropped the pipe, fumbling with his grip on it for a split second. “I… Nothing’s troublin’ me, I just…” He sighed and lifted a hand to pull of his hat. “Well, the pipe… Here.” He handed it over to Thorin. “I finally got it done. Just been waitin’ to give it to you. I hope… I hope you like it.”

He’d already told Bofur he liked the pipe, the last time he’d seen it up close. Of course, he hadn’t realized it was a gift, that Bofur had been making it for him. Taking it in his hand, he immediately turned it to look at the place that hadn’t been finished and he felt a lump the size of the Arkenstone wedge itself into his throat. There, in finer details than he knew Bofur capable of was Kíli, smiling brightly and eyes shining. Khuzdul was etched under the image, a small memorial prayer to Mahal in honor of a brave warrior fallen in battle.

Thorin didn’t know what to say, what to do. All he was capable of at that moment was staring through the tears in his eyes at a gift that could never be given proper worth.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at the gift, before he sensed Bofur moving. The miner had stood and looked ready to leave him alone. Without thought, his hand shot out and grabbed around Bofur’s wrist. “Wait,” he said, a little too fast and a little too forceful to be anything but frantic. “Wait,” he repeated, forcing himself to calm down. “Please, Bofur, I…” He stared at the pipe then looked up at the Dwarf.

Bofur’s eyes were sad but warm, and he offered the traces of a gentle smile. “Just thought you might want a moment alone.”

The king shook his head. “No. No, I…” He shifted on the furs and remembered the tray, which suddenly was very much in his way. “Dammit.” He let go of Bofur to move it, dump it to the ground for all he cared, just so it wasn’t there, wasn’t a hindrance.

Bofur picked it up from his lap and set it aside before he could ruin the meal. “Bombur would be cross, you go wastin’ good food,” he told him, as if knowing what the king had meant to do. Bofur seemed to read him a lot better than most ever could.

“He’s already been cross with me once today. I’m not that concerned.” He reached back out to take ahold of Bofur again, pulling the miner down to sit beside his hip on the furs.

“Bombur? Cross with you?” Bofur blinked, clearly surprised. “Gentle, backwards Bombur? What’d you do that made _that_ happen?” He asked, sounding awed, but Thorin could see traces of an over protective big brother lingering at the edges of Bofur’s gaze. He’d had the same reaction to things concerning his own siblings often enough to recognize it.

“If you’d let me speak for half a minute, you might find out,” he answered tersely. He had something to say, something that wasn’t easy, and Bofur was distracting him.

“Ain’t stoppin’ you. Say your piece.” He tugged his hand free of Thorin’s grip and crossed his arms. Seeing Bofur cross was unusual, and also distracting (and maybe a bit attractive, but that was neither here nor there at the moment). 

Growling softly, he tugged the hand free with a scowl and kept a firmer hold on it. “I’m trying to thank you, Mahal dammit,” he snapped before giving a heavy sigh and looking way. “I mean… Bofur, this gift, it means more than you could ever… Thank you. Thank you for the gift and for taking care of me. Thank you for… for caring. Without you… Without you here these last couple of weeks, maybe even longer than that, I don’t know that I could have made it this far. I would have given up, I would have… Just… Thank you.”

Bofur was silent, and the silence was deafening as it stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Then fingers slid into his beard and tilted his face so he had to meet Bofur’s gaze or keep his eyes shut. He was too prideful to be that much of a coward, so he met the gaze and held it. The miner was smiling at him, a soft gentle smile that made Thorin’s insides feel like they were tingling. “You’re welcome,” he said softly, hand shifting to cup Thorin’s cheek as he leaned in to rest his forehead to the king’s. “Nowhere else I’d rather be, than here. Wasn’t ever gonna press anything, take what I could get. Not real worthy of much.”

How could he possibly think that, Thorin wondered before silencing any other words by pressing his lips to Bofur’s. “Your worth can’t be measured, Bofur, but I could try, if you want. I’ve put a lot of thought to you. Never really came up with an answer for something that could compare, not yet, but I can keep trying.” He kissed him again, dragging his tongue along the seam of Bofur’s lips. “A smile as bright and shining as a mithril vein and eyes that sparkle and shine like the rarest of gems.”

Bofur flushed and looked down sheepishly, his throat clicking loudly as he swallowed. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He bumped their heads together again then sat back, never letting go of the miner’s hand. “All I want from you, Bofur, is you, by my side.”

Chuckling, Bofur looked up at him. “I think I can handle that. Kinda used to it, now.”

“Good.” Thorin smiled.

“You should finish eating. Won’t get your strength back if you go skippin’ meals.” Bofur stood and got the tray and placed it back in Thorin’s lap. “You didn’t say why Bombur was cross with you,” he reminded.

Thorin chuckled and set the pipe aside gently. “I’m sure he won’t be cross with me anymore.” He smiled, not elaborating.

“What kind of answer is that?” Bofur asked, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna have to ask him, aren’t I? Why do I figure he ain’t gonna answer either?”

The king just smirked and tore off a chunk of his bread. The loss of Kíli was still painful, it would be for a long time, especially once his sister arrived, but Bofur was a balm to the pain. With the miner at his side, Thorin knew he could face it and come out the other side whole and happy. Bofur gave him strength and a desire to continue to do what he’d always set out to do, make a home in Erebor for their people. Bofur was a reminder of why that was important. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Brilliance - Bilbo/Fili


	11. Brilliance - Bilbo/Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brilliance - A dragon is dazzling you. Is the brightness disconcerting or might it help you to see your own brilliance?

The first thing Bilbo had noticed about Fíli, once he was of a mind to notice anything at all beyond irritation, was his mouth. Not that surprising, framed as it was by short braids. Yet, it wasn’t those that drew his eye, least ways he didn’t think so. A flash of teeth and the mischievous, happy quirk of pink, full lips… How could he not notice?

Once he noticed, he noticed frequently. Those lips were quite distracting. As days went by, Bilbo realized so was the rest of the young Dwarf. His eyes sparkled and danced, his hair shone like rays of sunlight, and his laughter was full and infectious.

Some of the thoughts that came to the Hobbit’s mind were scandalous, and he often found himself needing to duck his head to hide a flush to his skin. If the others did notice, they always assumed he was embarrassed by whatever tale was being spun. They really did have a defined idea of his sensibilities. Bilbo was fine to leave it that way, better than the truth, he felt. Teasing was better than scorn.

But, the longer he was with the company, the harder it was. Notions of a lustful nature were tempered with other desires. Fíli’s presence was so bright and all consuming, and he and his brother tried to include Bilbo, though often as the butt of a joke.

In Rivendell, Fíli came to him, alongside Kíli, to apologize. They felt responsible for the trouble with the Trolls. He couldn’t find it in himself to not forgive. They’d not _made_ him go after the ponies. He was fairly certain they’d not learned a lesson, but he couldn’t withstand their wounded puppy faces. The brilliance of the sun shone from their grins when he acquiesced, and Bilbo’s heart stuttered in his chest as he ducked his head and muttered excuses to be _anywhere_ else, stumbling over his words.

Kíli nudged Fíli with his elbow then with a wink to Bilbo beat the Hobbit in a hasty retreat. Bilbo blinked, trying to figure out what was going on.

“The, uh, gardens seem nice,” Fíli said, awkwardly. “May I join you?”

Bilbo blinked again and stared a moment before looking toward the garden he’d just said he wanted to explore. It was an excuse, though he did wish to spend time there. He’d just had no immediate plans to do so. Looking back at Fíli, he tried to figure out the joke. Dwarves and gardens didn’t mix. “You? Want to see a garden?” He asked dumbly.

“Show me what is so special in green leaf and perfumed air.” He looked at the Hobbit, face open and honest. Bilbo could not deny him.

Turning, he walked with Fíli down the path through hedge and into a beautiful garden. The path was smooth stone and soft moss, and beautiful flowers spread back from it to elegant shrubbery and old, majestic trees. Soft, sweet grass spread over the ground, and Bilbo couldn’t help but step onto it and curl his toes through the silken blades.

He let out a small appreciative sound, closing his eyes to enjoy the ground beneath his feet and the sun upon his face. Fíli’s presence slipped his mind until he felt a shadow on his face. His eyes jerked open, and he looked up into the blond’s face, set with a focus that made Bilbo’s stomach quiver. He swallowed nervously.

“You’re glowing, Bilbo,” Fíli spoke softly. “I’ve never seen you look so happy.”

The Hobbit smiled at him. “This place is amazing.” The magic and life all around him was soothing, peaceful. He truly could lose himself to the place, forget everything else. “Everything is alive and beautiful, and it’s so… safe here.” He shook his head, not sure how else to explain it.

Fíli looked around. “You really do love all this _green_.” He seemed as confused as amazed.

Bilbo grabbed his hand and led him over to a nearby flowering shrub. He reached out and delicately cupped a bloom. “This is _life_ , Fíli. You see beauty in hard stone gem and metal, which are beautiful but they’re so _cold_ and lifeless. They shine and glitter and last forever and you have to work so hard to get them.” The hobbit shook his head not understanding. “This bloom is just as colorful and lasts but a moment in time. It’s fragile and delicate, so easily destroyed, but it offers _so_ much to the world. Without these, even you Dwarves would suffer. _All_ life is connected to all this green, all these flowers; depends on it for food, shelter, and, yes, beauty. Standing here, you can _feel_ it in the air and the ground beneath our feet. Everything is so _alive_.”

He stroked the petal of the flower gently. It was soft and smooth against his thumb, and he carefully let the bloom lie back in the leaves so he didn’t bruise it. Glancing up, he gaged Fíli’s expression.

The Dwarf was watching the flower, a slight frown on his face. He was rolling something around in that golden head of his. “Thank you, Bilbo, for sharing this with me,” he said finally, looking at the Hobbit and offering a small, honest smile.

“It is my pleasure, Fíli.” He gave the Dwarf’s arm a pat then returned to the stone path.

“I need to speak with Balin, but… May I join you here again, Bilbo?” He looked earnest and so hopeful, Bilbo couldn’t have denied him if he’d wanted.

“Of course,” he told Fíli, trying not to sound too eager. Bilbo smiled when the Dwarf grinned and shouted his thanks as he raced off.

Shaking his head, Bilbo walked further into the garden, finding a nice sunny bench to pull himself up on and enjoy the scenery around him. He felt a warm tingle in his belly as he thought about Fíli wanting to join him again, in the garden; a place one really would never expect to find any Dwarf let alone a young, active prince usually only interested in a bit of fun, when not seeing to some duty for his uncle. It occurred to him again it _might_ be part of some ploy, a prank for a later date given Kíli’s behavior earlier, but Bilbo didn’t think so. Fíli had been so out of character, from what the Hobbit had seen of him.

 

* * *

The next day, after he’d eaten luncheon with Gandalf and Lord Elrond, Bilbo went to check on the Dwarves. He liked to see what they were up to a few times a day. One could never guess with that lot.

He found some of them lounging with their pipes while others tumbled and wrestled about. He shook his head at their antics. They could be so… carefree, and he was happy to see them so. He did not think the joy would last, not with a dragon waiting on them.

“Bilbo!” Fíli’s voice called, and the young Dwarf hopped up from beside Bofur and came over to him, grin splitting his face. “Are you headed to the gardens?” He asked eagerly, and again Bilbo couldn’t help but be suspicious. He glanced around at the others; some of which seemed suspicious or surprised by the question as much as he did, especially Thorin.

“Uh… yes?” He answered, though it was more of a question. Bilbo gave an uncertain look to the blond.

Fíli continued to grin. “Great! I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” He took the Hobbit around the shoulders with a strong arm. “Can we go now?” He seemed oblivious to the stares and glances being thrown around by the other Dwarves.

Bilbo eyed the young Dwarf, but it was hopeless to deny him. “Alright,” he acquiesced, and before the word was even done, Fíli was leading him away from the others.

The distance to the garden they’d been to the day before was short, and Fíli’s stride was purposeful and long, at least for Bilbo. Soon, they found themselves alone, and the Dwarf led him to a bench before suddenly seeming hesitant. Fíli helped Bilbo to sit then shifted on his feet anxiously.

The Hobbit frowned, concerned. “Fíli?” The young Dwarf never even acted this nervous when in trouble with Thorin, from what Bilbo had seen.

“Balin said Hobbits… that you’re children of Yavanna.” He shifted on his feet again. He looked at the ground a moment before his eyes met Bilbo’s.

He really wasn’t sure why that was important. “Yes, we Hobbits believe that. Elves and Men don’t usually agree. I’d never wondered what Dwarves thought,” he answered, watching him in puzzlement.

Fíli shifted anxiously again. “Mahal… Mahal and Yavanna are wed. Way I see it… I mean… There’s no reason Hobbits and Dwarves aren’t, couldn’t… What I’m trying to say,” he flushed and stepped closer. “I find you to be… I really don’t know a word, but I want to kiss you,” he rushed out.

Bilbo could only stare, feeling heat climb up his neck into his face and ears. He couldn’t have possibly heard that right. Surely, he was hallucinating or Fíli had noticed his attention and was playing a joke, a rather cruel one. Bilbo liked to think Fíli incapable of being that cruel.

“If you don’t… I’ll understand if you don’t want me to,” Fíli continued speaking when Bilbo didn’t respond. He looked skittish and upset. No longer did he shift or fidget. Fíli had gone completely, eerily still, and his face was shuttered.

Bilbo could see, though, how he had… dulled, and the Hobbit hated it. “No!” He said suddenly, and far too loudly. He reached out to grab one broad, rough hand between his own smaller, smoother ones.

Fíli jerked as if slapped and took a small step backward. He looked around nervously, like seeking a quick exit; Bilbo gripped his hand tighter.

“I mean, Fíli, that I would like that, too,” the Hobbit told him after a moment, keeping his voice reassuring and gentle. He stroked the back of the Dwarf’s hand, keeping it sandwiched between his own.  “Nothing would make me happier.”

The prince seemed to mull that over for several moments before he raised his free hand to cup Bilbo’s smooth cheek. The world seemed to slow down around them, and all Bilbo could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and the increased thump of his heart, which felt lodged in his throat. He did not notice his breath was caught, until he tried to gasp as Fíli’s lips barely brushed against his own.

As kisses went, it was brief and soft. There was barely anything to it at all. Bilbo had never experienced anything more amazing. His eyes fluttered closed, and he clutched his fingers on Fíli’s coat. He could feel his entire body thrumming with warmth and emotion.

The scrape of Fíli’s hand against his cheek drew his attention, and he opened his eyes to meet bright blue. The Dwarf prince seemed to be looking inside of him. Bilbo shivered. “I would do so again,” Fíli spoke, voice soft and deep.

The Hobbit shivered again. “Please.” He tightened his grip on the Dwarf’s coat, looking up at him desperately.

Fíli’s lips were firmer upon his, stayed longer. Bilbo lost himself to it, leaning his weight into the prince. Strong arms wound around him, pulling him from the bench and holding him tightly. He sighed into the kiss, content to lose himself there in the garden in Fíli’s arms.

Eventually, Fíli moved his lips away. He smiled at Bilbo, warming the Hobbit from the inside out. “I do not wish to rush this,” the Dwarf prince said as he cupped Bilbo’s cheek in his hand once more.

“No, you’re right.” Bilbo reluctantly pulled back from him. “Sit with me?”

Fíli gave a nod and took a seat beside Bilbo on the stone bench. He took the Hobbit’s hand, holding it loosely. Bilbo leaned into him, closing his eyes and enjoying the quiet and Fíli.

Time passed, but Bilbo hardly noticed until Bifur came looking for them. The Dwarf growled and motioned something that Bilbo didn’t follow, as usual. He watched quietly as Fíli gave a nod and Bifur left them alone again.

Having sat up when he’d heard Bifur approach, the Hobbit looked up at the prince curiously. “Is something wrong?”

Fíli smiled at him and leaned down to kiss him softly. “No. Uncle sent him to find me, to make sure I wasn’t causing trouble. I apparently can’t be out of sight for so long without getting into trouble.”

Bilbo chuckled. “He’s probably right.” The Hobbit smiled up at him.

“Are you trouble, Bilbo?” Fíli asked, voice soft. He smiled softly, eyes twinkling in mischief.

“I’m sure you uncle would vehemently say so.”

“Despite what Thorin thinks, he doesn’t know all, and he’s not always right.” Fíli kissed Bilbo again. “It’s close to time for supper. We should join the others.”

“Supper?!” Bilbo looked up at the sky. Where had the time gone? He couldn’t believe they’d been sitting so long.

The prince chuckled. “You were lost in my magnificent presence, were you?” Fíli teased, eyes still dancing brilliantly.

Bilbo felt his face heat up as he flushed. He refused to answer, though they both knew the truth of it. No doubt he’d have sat there until dark without realizing time was passing.

“I had not realized either.” Fíli cupped his cheek and kissed him yet again. “I could lose myself in you.”

The Hobbit smiled at the Dwarf. “We don’t _have_ to go to supper.”

Fíli laughed softly. “I can’t starve my Hobbit.”

“I’m yours, am I?” Bilbo smirked. He could get used to that.

“Yes,” he answered with finality before slipping off the bench. “Come, Bilbo. Let’s get the heckling over with.” Fíli held a hand out to help Bilbo to his feet. He pulled him close once he was.

Bilbo leaned into him with a smile, soaking up the warmth of the prince’s body and presence. He knew he’d follow Fíli anywhere. He’d caught the Sun, and he wasn’t about to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up -- Bilbo/Balin.


	12. Instinct - Balin/Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This dragon lives in the molten center of the earth. What lies at the core of your being?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last few pages of this I didn't go over as much as the earlier part. I wanted to get it up for everyone. I really enjoyed writing this one. Hope you enjoy. I have a new fondness for this pairing.

“You look troubled, lad,” Balin spoke as he sat down beside Bilbo. The Hobbit looked up from where he’d been ruminating over their journey and chewing at the end of his pipe as much as smoking. Balin had approached without him hearing, which said something for how distracted he’d been with his thoughts. With the exception of Nori, they weren’t the sneaking type, and there certainly was no reason to sneak up to Bilbo. If for nothing else, Balin was courteous enough to let noise announce his approach.

The Hobbit lowered his pipe and offered a small smile. “Not particularly troubled, just contemplative.”

Balin didn’t look like he believed Bilbo. “You looked fit to bite that pipe in two.” A large, warm hand came to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Now, what’s the matter? Best not let things fester.” The way the Dwarf’s eyes darted to Thorin across the camp was not lost on the Hobbit.

“Nothing serious as all that.” Bilbo put his pipe back in his mouth, puffing at it thoughtfully a moment. He wasn’t terribly sure how to explain without sounding childish, and maybe he was. Truth was he had no idea how the others did it, roamed about without the warmth and safety of home. Deep down, where he could never admit to his fellows, he pitied them, even though they’d hate him for it. Dwarves were far too honorable and strong, too damned _prideful_ , for a silly thing like pity, even when offered by a caring friend.

Patient as ever, Balin sat beside him and waited. Bilbo took comfort in the Dwarf’s presence. In his own ways, Balin reminded the Hobbit of home. His presence was safe, calm, friendly, warm. What more could a Hobbit ask for? Hobbits lived for comfort, friends, family, security, and the older Dwarf spun a good story as well. While Bofur was also all those things, and a good friend besides, there was simply something about Balin that felt like a balm to Bilbo’s anxieties and homesickness.

Balin was the safest, a part of him said, and he couldn’t deny that piece, that place in him full of all his good sense, especially not when he’d done so much ignoring it otherwise.

Bilbo didn’t realize he’d been so quiet for so long until the hand that was still resting on his shoulder; why hadn’t he noticed it still there large, warm, and so strong; gave a squeeze and the Dwarf’s arm went about his back to grip the shoulder opposite. “Seems a lot on your mind, laddie. I won’t judge you.”

Heaving a small sigh, Bilbo shifted, trying not to lean into the Dwarf and the friendly gesture. Balin surely wouldn’t know what to do about a clingy Hobbit, but the touch was quite comforting. “It will seem silly, to you.” He turned the pipe in his hand, smoothing his thumb along the shape absently. The pipe had been his father’s, and if not for having it safe in his pocket, it would have been lost long before. It was his only piece of home left. For a moment, he felt a pang of pain at the loss of his precious books, books that had also belonged to his father.

Balin gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “No, laddie, it won’t. I know how you feel,” he said, trailing off quietly.

Glancing up, Bilbo saw the Dwarf staring in the direction he assumed Erebor waited. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Balin’s knee. Dwarves, for the way they were constantly pushing and jabbing at one another, were twitching about ‘softer’ touches, but if Balin was comfortable touching him, then he could return the favor. It was only fair he be able to comfort, too. “We’ll get there. You’ll see your home again.”

“I came over here to comfort _you_ , lad.” He chuckled. “Hobbits are truly amazing creatures, Bilbo. You’ll see your home again, too. It’s the least we could do for you.”

Bilbo gave a faint smile, ignoring the way his cheeks felt too warm at being called amazing. “We might not survive to see that much done.” He was resigned to that. The Shire was weeks behind, and it would take a miracle for him to ever see her again.

“A wise man once said to never give up hope. He’d not want to see you despair so, you mean a great deal to him.” Balin smiled and reached with his free hand for Bilbo’s pipe resting in a lax grip against his thigh. Bilbo didn’t begrudge him. They were friends, as far as he was concerned, and friends shared such things. He watched the Dwarf take a small drag of smoke from it. “I’ll see you home, lad. You’re seeing us to ours, and I will return that kindness.”

The Hobbit gave a small smile. “Thank you, for _your_ kindness, Mister Balin.” The older Dwarf had no reason to go out of his way for the Hobbit, and Bilbo knew so much could change before there was even the possibility to return home. Hope, of any kind, was becoming harder to hold onto.

His shoulders were given a strong squeeze. “Best rest up, lad. We enter the Misty Mountains tomorrow. It will be the hardest part of our journey yet.” Balin removed his arm and gave Bilbo’s back a pat before standing. He rested Bilbo’s pipe where he’d been sitting then walked over to sit with his brother and Thorin.

Bilbo picked up his pipe and snuffed it out before hiding it safely away in his inside pocket. Taking Balin’s advice, he went to his bedroll and lied down. It was chilly but not so much he was too uncomfortable, so he settled down to sleep.

Balin was right about the mountains. They were cold, even in summer, and the terrain was nearly impassable. Bilbo struggled. He had no hope not to when even the Dwarves did at times. Dwalin took to sticking with him and Ori, the two of them having the most trouble. It was nice of him, but Bilbo felt a burden because of it. That Dwalin was so gruff and distant didn’t make it any better, almost like he looked down on them because of their struggle. Bilbo reasoned it was only because the road was hard on the warrior, too. He didn’t want to think poor of him.

After that, they came across Giants and Goblins and Orcs. The sheer terror and thrill of a ride on the Eagles was lost to exhaustion and worry. His mind tried to catch up to what all had happened, but it seemed to be frozen. Something told him it was shock, but he didn’t have the energy or gumption to care.

In Beorn’s hall, they could finally rest and heal. Bilbo sat in front of the fire staring off in thought and holding his pipe, broken when he’d fallen in the Goblin cave. In truth, he was probably still in a bit of shock after it all and the pipe was just a bit of icing on the cake. Part of him felt like crying.

Again, Balin was able to come up to him unnoticed. “Alright there, lad?”

Bilbo looked up at him, giving a faint smile. “I’m fine.” He set the pipe aside. “And you, Mister Balin?” His own troubles could wait while he gave his attention to the Dwarf. Balin had been kind to him, and he’d do no less in turn.

The Dwarf smiled and sat beside him. “Just fine.” He glanced around Bilbo, at the pipe. “Bofur might be able to mend that.”

“I think it’s a lost cause.” He offered the Dwarf a faint smile. “It’s just a pipe.” And it was, even if Bilbo felt as cracked as the pipe in that moment.

“Seems to be more than that.” Balin looked at him with gentle eyes.

Bilbo couldn’t lie to him. “It was my father’s.” He had a Hobbit hole full of things that had been belonged to his parents. He shouldn’t care so much about a simple pipe; it wasn’t even one of the best ones.

“Then it is more than ‘just a pipe,’ lad.” Balin held out a rough, battle worn hand. A moment passed then Bilbo realized he wanted the pipe. Picking the pieces up, he placed them in the Dwarf’s larger hand.

Balin pulled his own pipe out of his pocket and handed it to the Hobbit before focusing his attention to the pieces. They turned over in his hands as he examined the way it was broke in two. Holding the ends together, he seemed to be trying to see how Bofur or Bifur might fix it.

“I really think it’s a lost cause,” Bilbo told him, again. He couldn’t fathom how it would be mended.

“Can’t hurt to try.” The Dwarf’s smile was gentle. He slipped the pieces into his pocket. “I can’t promise anything.”

Bilbo smiled a little and got up to light Balin’s pipe. “Thank you, Balin. It means enough you wanting to try. You don’t need to go through the trouble.” He moved from the hearth back to the Dwarf’s side.

“Let a Dwarf fuss over a friend when he likes, lad.” Balin’s eyes danced as he smiled at Bilbo. “We take our crafts and our friendships very serious.”

Feeling his spirits lifted, Bilbo gave a more genuine smile. “I’m honored you think me a friend.”

“Of course you are, Bilbo.” Balin rested a hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder and squeezed.

The Hobbit smiled broader. As skeptical about things as Balin could be, he was the first one to explain things to Bilbo, didn’t seem to mind the Hobbit’s presence or naivety, and now, to call him friend.

They sat in silence for a time, passing the pipe. The others joined them one or two at a time until all of them sat before the great fireplace. They talked and joked, relaxed and at ease for the time being. Bilbo smiled to himself, happy to see it, as he continued to sit quietly and listen to the voices around him.

Eventually, though, he began to tire. Easing off his seat, he smiled up at Balin and handed him his pipe. “This Hobbit needs some rest,” he told him softly, not wanting to intrude on Bofur’s grand storytelling.

“Rest well, Bilbo,” Balin told him with a friendly gaze.

Shuffling off, Bilbo made his way to his bedroll and stretched out to sleep, finding it more easily than he had of late.

While they were at Beorn’s, the Hobbit spent more time with Balin, listening to his stories and getting to know what he could of the Dwarves in the company and Dwarves on a whole. There was much he knew that Balin could not tell him, for Bilbo was not a Dwarf and their secrets were their own, though Bilbo felt they kept some of the oddest things secret, things no one would really give a second thought to. But, he didn’t scoff. No, it wasn’t his place to judge, so he’d simply give a small nod of understanding when he’d blunder across something or the other.

Balin never mentioned Bilbo’s pipe, but he was always more than happy to share his own. In turn, Bilbo was more than happy for the excuse to be in the Dwarf’s company. When it came time to leave the shape changer’s home, Bilbo felt a great reluctance. It had been nice, staying there.

The road ahead looked cold and dark, figuratively more than physically, and the way that the others grew pensive informed him that there was more to the next part of their journey than was being told. Gandalf and Thorin were often hissing soft words at one another, expressions full of ire and stubbornness.

The Hobbit couldn’t help but pull back a bit, grow distant from the others as he stilled himself for going back out into the wilderness and risk life and limb for a group of Dwarves, most of which he wasn’t even sure he could call friend. He was hesitant again, when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be, that he’d see them home.

“No one would blame you, Master Baggins,” a rough voice spoke up behind him as he stood outside Beorn’s home and stared back at the Misty Mountains.

He was used to the Dwarves moving around the yard, so he’d paid no mind to the shadow that had come up behind him. In that moment, though, he wished he had. Things had gotten a lot easier between he and Thorin, but he knew he was still just a tool, a means to an end. Turning, he looked at the regal Dwarf. “Blame me?” He asked, only having an inkling of what the other meant. Thorin was expecting him to run, like his aborted attempt in the cave what seemed so very long ago.

“You’ve come farther than any of us could have expected, been stronger and more resilient than we gave your people credit. We both know this is no place for you.” He watched Bilbo with a cool, assessing gaze that made a shiver run along the Hobbit’s spine.

“Perhaps.” He turned his back on Thorin again and watched the mountains. “Perhaps not. It’s not for either of us to say. I am here, now, and I as much as you may wish for me to, I have no intention of giving up. As little as you think of me, I spoke true. I will see you all home again. Everyone deserves a home, the home of their choice.”

He could feel Thorin’s heavy gaze on his back, and he was certain the other was upset for having been turned away from. He was one that demanded attention, just by breathing, really. No doubt he wasn’t used to being so easily dismissed, but Thorin was not going to get to him, he told himself. Not again.

“I do not understand you,” Thorin spoke, a growl to his voice. “You are most confusing and frustrating. What do you get out of this? The treasure? I thought Hobbits were above such things as gems and gold.”

“Is that why you agreed with Gandalf, to bring a Hobbit? As large as you say your treasure is, a fourteenth would split between thirteen Dwarves quite wealthfully.” He turned to face the other again. “If I have no use for your blasted treasure that just means more for you.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes. “So you are doing this for the treasure.”

“You are the most miserable, irritating, mule headed _creature_ I have ever had the _misfortune_ to meet!” He snapped at him, quite loudly.

The Dwarf growled menacingly and stepped closer to the Hobbit. “Careful, Burglar,” he warned, hands clenching at his sides.

“Oh, yes, get violent. Yavanna knows you can’t respond in any other fashion. I _pity_ you, Thorin Oakenshield. You’re a great oaf blinded to the world around him truly with a heart of stone.” He moved to walk around the Dwarf, giving a soft yelp as his upper arm was grabbed in a strong, viselike grip.

“Now, lads.” Balin came up to them, trying a gentle smile and a soft tone. “This journey has been hard on the both of you, and taking it out on one another does no one any good, least of all you.”

Thorin shot the other Dwarf a glare then let go of Bilbo. “Yes, coddle your Hobbit, Balin. Mahal knows he’s not had enough of that in his life,” he spit out before turning and stalking away like a dark and foreboding storm cloud.

Balin shook his head and stepped up to Bilbo. “I begin to worry one of you will kill the other before we reach our goal,” he offered with a faint smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“We both know who’d kill who.” Bilbo touched his arm lightly. He could still feel the constricting touch. Likely, he’d bruise. Dwarves were so blasted _strong_.

“I’m not so sure.” He came forward and gently placed his hand on Bilbo’s pain free arm. “Come, lad. Let’s see if we can’t put something on your arm. Thorin forgets his strength and is used to grabbing hold of unruly Dwarf princes, not softer Hobbits.”

Bilbo walked with him easily. “Don’t make excuses for him. He wanted to hurt me.” Hobbits were as stubborn as Dwarves, after all, and he wasn’t going to just let it go.

“You do know how to get strong reactions out of him. Perhaps it is that you are, in some ways, far too much alike. You just express yourselves in differing manners.” He offered Bilbo a gentle smile as he got him into the shade of a tree. “Now sit. I’ll be right back.”

Bilbo leaned against the tree with a sigh and watched him go off toward where the Hobbit could see Óin and Gloin sitting with Bifur. The exchange was brief, Óin getting something out of the bag at his side to hand to Balin, and then Balin was on his way back to Bilbo. The Hobbit reluctantly removed his shirt as Balin came to his side, flushing a little as he always did when he had to get in any state of undress in front of one of the others.

Balin didn’t say a word as he knelt down and put balm on Bilbo’s arm. “There now. That should help.” He smiled and wiped his hand off on his pants. Shifting around, he sat back against the tree with Bilbo and closed the jar of balm.

“Thank you, Balin.” Bilbo sighed softly. “You have made this journey far easier on me than I believe it would have been otherwise.” He rested his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. His arm tingled a little from the initial chill of the balm, but the pain was easing to be replaced by soothing warmth. Óin really was clever with his ointments.

Balin gave a soft chuckle. “It’s my pleasure, lad.” Bilbo heard him shift, from the sounds of it pulling out his pipe as he heard the sound of the flint. Then the air was lightly scented with the leaf Beorn had on hand to offer them. It wasn’t as strong as Dwarvish leaf, which sometimes felt like it was trying to burn Bilbo’s lungs from his chest, nor was it as grassy as Hobbit leaf. There was a distinct sweet and fruitiness to the one Balin was smoking, though Bilbo preferred the smooth woody one Beorn made to this particular one.

The scent was soothing, though, and he didn’t realize he was dozing off until he woke however long later. The sky was still bright, but the sun had clearly moved. The scent of the smoke was still all around him, but it was laced now with a deeper, soothing earthy scent that was musky, rich, and not quite metallic. He shifted and froze. His head was pillowed against something that was definitely not a tree. He sat up suddenly, and would have fallen over on his other side if not for a sudden hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Bilbo,” Balin’s voice drew his focus. He looked up at the Dwarf, taking in his gentle smile and felt his face flame.

“I’m terribly sorry, Balin. I didn’t mean to mistake you for my pillow.” He sat up and shifted around.

The Dwarf laughed. “No harm done. You were resting peacefully, that’s what matters.” He continued to smile at him. “How does your arm fair?”

For a moment, he didn’t recall why his arm should be bothering him at all, either one of them, and then he remembered. “It’s alright,” he told him, touching it gingerly but he found it not to be painful at all, for the moment.

“Good. I believe it’s about time for a meal. I imagine that’s why you woke,” he teased lightly before standing to his feet. A large, rough hand extended toward Bilbo to help him to his feet, and the Hobbit couldn’t refuse such a kind offer.

They made their way inside, sitting with the others to have their meal. Bilbo focused on the fine foods and filled his stomach as much as he could. After the next morning, there’d be no good meals for who knew how long. He’d been sure to feed himself well while he had the chance, knowing how hard it could be to come by food on the road.

He didn’t speak to Thorin again, not then and not throughout the rest of the day or even the next morning. Balin and Bofur were the ones he spent the most time with, and on occasion Ori or the princes. Like all the other times he and Thorin had disagreed, it was put behind him and he moved forward. In the end, it didn’t really matter what Thorin thought of him, so long as he did right by those who did seem to care.

More often than not, it came down to him wanting to do this for Balin. Bilbo didn’t put much thought to that fact, didn’t really acknowledge it at all. At least not until he was scurrying through an Elven king’s dungeons looking for said Dwarf. He felt his stomach in knots at the fact that something could have happened to the company, but especially that something could have happened to Balin. No matter how logical he tried to be about it, all that mattered was he found the Dwarf and saw with his own two eyes that he was, indeed, alive and whole.

When he started finding them, he checked over each of them, took messages and answered questions, but the racing of his heart, the stone in the pit of his stomach didn’t ease until he found Balin. It wasn’t really the time, then, to analyze why. He simply reached in as best he could until he felt strong fingers wrap around his own.

Before he could even speak, Balin did. “Are you alright, laddie?” And wasn’t that just like Balin to ask after him, when Bilbo wasn’t the one stuck in a cage.

“I’m fine. Worried sick after you, but I’m fine. I’ll find a way to get you out of here. I’ve seen everyone but Thorin and Dwalin. From the curses I hear down that way, I imagine Dwalin’s not far.” He didn’t try to pull his hand free, didn’t notice the clutch around it had gone on for so long as he was far too happy to feel the touch to put any meaning to the way Balin was almost clinging to him.

Balin gave a faint chuckle and rested his forehead to the back of Bilbo’s hand. “Aye, that sounds like my brother.” His voice sounded tired, and Bilbo wanted nothing more than to get the door open and offer him more comfort than a hand through a small opening of bars.

“Rest, Balin, and eat the food they bring you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He tried to squeeze the hand holding his own captive.

The Dwarf moved, and Bilbo wasn’t sure but it felt like he grazed the back of Bilbo’s hands with his lips as he lifted his head. It wasn’t the time to think too much on it as Balin let go of him. “I have faith in you, Bilbo. If anyone can get us free, it will be our clever Hobbit.”

Reluctantly, he had to leave his friend’s cell to continue his search. In the end, he did find Dwalin but it took him another day and a half to locate Thorin. After that, days blurred as he worked on a way to get his friends free. When the answer came to him, he knew they’d not like it, but there was little to be done for it.

The ride from the wood was miserable. Bilbo didn’t feel like moving once he was on dry land again. He ached and was cold, but he got up and helped the others. He would have done more, had he not found himself wrapped in strong arms from behind. An indignant squawk left him as he was lifted off his feet for a brief moment.

Once he was standing again, he turned and stared up at Balin. The behavior was not typical, save where interactions with Dwalin were concerned. He still remembered the way they’d slammed their heads together. It was a wonder they’d not knocked themselves senseless.

“It is good to see you, lad, and to be out of that horrible forest.” Balin smiled at him.

“Indeed,” Thorin said as he stepped up to them. “Again, you have proved your worth and humbled me, Bilbo. Thank you.”

Bilbo felt embarrassed, but he was too cold to feel any warmth bloom in his cheeks. “Now what do we do?” He asked them, looking around at all the dripping Dwarves.

“The Men of the Lake are our only choice at present.” Thorin looked less than pleased. “We make for Lake Town.”

The Hobbit didn’t have much use for Men, even if they were the ones Hobbits had the most experience with. Or maybe it was because of that. Men were loud and disrespectful creatures, and like Elves and Dwarves, had not much use for anyone that wasn’t what they were. He supposed, in their own way, Hobbits were that way, too, but they were always somewhat welcoming, even if they found another to be odd. It was only good manners, after all, and Men went so far as to be bigoted and hateful to their own kind, as well. Most were short sighted and careless creatures.

Elves and Dwarves had treated him better than most Men had. Bilbo wasn’t looking forward to a town full of them. He’d stick close to the Dwarves and hopefully go unnoticed.

And that was exactly what he did. Of course, it was easy to stay away from Men when you were holed up sick. Óin and Balin were always looking after him, and Bofur often came for brief visits to try to lift his spirits. Balin only left when he had to see to matters with Thorin. Bilbo was so thankful for his friend, but he was too tired and weak to think to thank him. He was more than grateful for the care, though, and once he was back on his feet, he made sure to pull Balin aside.

“I’ve already thanked Óin and Bofur, but I owe you my thanks as well.” He offered Balin a gentle smile. “You’ve made the last few days bearable. Truly, you’ve made the entire journey bearable. I can never repay the kindness you’ve given to me, but I want you to know how grateful I really I am for it all.”

Balin rested his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, and the Hobbit was so familiar with the touch he hated to think of after the mountain, when he’d go home and never feel it again. “You don’t need to thank me, Bilbo. It was my honor and my pleasure.” He smiled down at the Hobbit.

Along the road, somewhere, things had started to change. Bilbo knew that, he’d known all along that things were shifting into something he didn’t have experience with or words for. The way he felt when Balin stood close to him, talked to him, _touched_ him… Bilbo ached deeply when he thought he’d have to go without it for a day, much as he had in Mirkwood. And here they stood, so very close to Erebor and the end of the journey. Truth be told, he wanted to sit and weep for what he was to lose. He’d gained so much, and it was all to be taken away from him.

“Bilbo?” He realized Balin was frowning at him now and looking a little blurry around the edges. “Bilbo, lad, whatever is wrong?” The Dwarf led him to a seat and sat beside him. “Come now. Everything’s alright.”

He sniffed and pulled out a handkerchief, a true one that Bofur had brought in to gift to him while he’d been sick, and dabbed at his eyes. “I’m alright. Just everything catching up with me,” he told him, finding the ability to lie so much easier than it’d ever been before. “Still a bit tired, and I think I could out eat Bombur at the moment.”

Balin threw his head back and laughed at that. “A sight that would be. Let us get some real food into your stomach, then.” He stood back up and walked with Bilbo into the kitchen.

Bombur was there, and he beamed at them. “Hungry, Bilbo?” The rotund Dwarf asked with a knowing smile.

“Famished.” Bilbo pulled himself up onto a stool and leaned against the table. He watched as Bombur fussed about, making him a plate full of meats and cheeses and small potatoes. “Eat that up and I’ll find you some bread and fruit.” He turned and went about it.

A cup of milk was sat at his elbow. “We got this fresh this morning,” Balin told him as he sat down beside him.

Bilbo smiled and began to eat, enjoying the food and the milk. He’d halfway cleaned his plate when Bombur brought him crusty bread and three different fruits. “We have some kippers,” the Dwarf told him, “if you want me to grill you some.”

“I think this will do for now. Thank you, Bombur.” He smiled at the Dwarf then focused on his meal. He felt swollen and sluggish once he’d finished filling himself, but it was a pleasant feeling after not much to eat in the woods, scraps as he scurried along in the dungeons, and broth while he was sick. “I’ve never been that hungry that I recall.”

Both the Dwarves chuckled at him. “You should rest.” Balin moved to stand. “You’re still on the mend, however well you might feel.”

With a sigh and a groan, he got to his feet, rubbing his bloated belly. “Maybe I over did it,” he admitted as he walked with Balin back to the room he’d been sleeping in.

The Dwarf only chuckled at him again, and pushed open his door. “I have to meet with Thorin. You rest, and I will see you at supper, if you’re up to it.”

Bilbo groaned at the idea of more food before climbing onto the bed. He faintly heard the door closed, but he was half asleep even as he put his head on the pillow. When he woke, he felt like he’d only just gone to sleep, but Óin was at the side of the bed looking him over with Kíli standing not too far behind him. He offered them a tired smile.

“I want you to rest up through tomorrow, but I think the sickness has passed.” Óin informed Bilbo. “No more stunts with the river. If you’d taken much more water in, you’d have drowned. Wouldn’t bode well for our journey, and I’d hate to think what Balin would… Well, you’re nearly back up to snuff, so rest and relax. Won’t be much room for it after we leave here.”

He frowned at the Dwarf, wondering what he was going to say about Balin, but he didn’t press. “Can you ask Bombur to bring me my meal?”

“Oh!” Kíli moved over to the dresser. “I’ve got it right here, Master Baggins.” He walked over to the bed with the tray. On it was a full plate with kippers, ham, potatoes, beans, crusty bread, and what looked to be barley or some other grain. A bowl of cream and fruit rested beside it as well as a tall glass of some beverage or other. There was also a small wrapped parcel, and Bilbo eyed it. “That’s from Master Balin. He had to go out with Thorin and Dwalin to take care of some stuff. Said he’d been holding onto it for quite a while, and it was time you had it.”

Bilbo let the tray rest in his lap and picked up the package. It was light, small, but he could feel the general shape of the item inside. There was a prickling of tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Óin, Kíli. I… I would like to be alone now, if that’s not too much trouble.”

“Bilbo…?” Kíli frowned at him, looking concerned, but Óin took the prince by the arm and left the room with him, shushing him to leave Bilbo in peace.

The Hobbit opened the package once he was alone, tears falling from his eyes as he looked on his father’s pipe, once again whole. He didn’t know how it’d been done, and before he looked very closely, he couldn’t even see where it’d been broken. Meal forgotten, he clutched the pipe close and blubbered like a baby over it.

It took him quite a while to settle enough to rest the pipe to the side so he could eat his meal. He ate what he could, but his mind felt jumbled and his stomach felt tight with nerves and emotion. Eating what he could, he leaned forward to set the tray at the end of the bed so he could stand to take it over to the dresser Kíli had used for it earlier.

Tired despite only being awake a short time, he climbed back into bed and took the pipe in hand. As he lay there, clutching it, his mind wondered again to Balin. He tried to put definition to the emotions he was feeling about his friend. They were not unwelcome feelings, but they were so intense it nearly took his breath away. Part of him knew what it was he was feeling; he’d seen it enough with others in the Shire, especially his parents. He also felt an ache, for having unknowingly given his heart to a Dwarf, he knew he’d resigned himself to worse pain than he’d already imagined for his return home.

Bilbo hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he felt a hand at his hair. The touch was light and gentle. Shifting, he opened his eyes and looked up. Balin gave him a small smile from where he stood beside the bed. “Your fever seems to be completely gone,” he said as he moved to sit on the small stool that had been brought in days before just for that purpose.

“Óin wants me to rest through tomorrow, but he said the sickness is gone.” Bilbo slowly sat up and stretched.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, lad. It’s the middle of the night. You should get some more rest.” Balin pulled out his pipe, a new one he’d had to find in Lake Town because his own had been lost. Which begged the question how he’d kept hold of Bilbo’s.

“The pipe… Thank you, Balin.” Bilbo picked his father’s pipe up from where he’d been sleeping curled around it, and how childish was that, clinging to such a thing in his sleep. “I don’t know how it was fixed, or how you managed to get it here, but thank you.” He felt tears in the corners of his eyes again. “You’ve been far too kind to me.”

Balin was silent for a moment, not that unusual for the Dwarf. The scent of the earthy, mossy leaf the Men had in their market filled the air. There was just a hint of spice to it, probably to counter the mustiness it had. Bilbo wasn’t too much a fan of the flavor; he’d tried it briefly before Óin had fussed about his lungs being irritated enough. Though, the way it’d made him cough and expel fluid from them had not been lost on the Dwarf. Bilbo was grateful he’d not had to relive the experience, given the thoughtful look Óin had on his face at the time. The scent, though, wasn’t horrible. The earthiness reminded him of the Shire.

“I’m just glad you have it back, Bilbo,” Balin finally spoke. He smiled at the Hobbit. “We’ll be moving on to the mountain in three days,” he said. “So maybe you should rest up for all of them, just to be on the safe side.”

“I can’t stay abed that long. I can just imagine what Thorin thinks about me lazing about.” He snorted softly. Thorin had no real use for someone that wasn’t being of use.

Balin gave a soft grunt. “Let me worry about Thorin. He has more to think about than what you’re doing. You have the hardest job of all, once we make it to Erebor, and you’ve suffered enough already for choosing to help us. A few more days rest won’t hurt anything.” He smiled at Bilbo.

“Shouldn’t you be resting, now I mean. You said it’s the middle of the night.” Bilbo frowned a little. Why _was_ Balin there in the middle of the night? He could have easily checked on Bilbo in the morning.

“Aye. Probably so. I wanted to look in on you first.” Balin smoked his pipe and offered another small smile.

“I’m fine.” Bilbo shifted on the bed. “But I won’t be if I have to worry about you. You need rest.” Looking closely, he noticed how tired the Dwarf was. He’d been too sick to really notice before. Had Balin rested at all after getting to Lake Town?

“I’ll go down to my bedroll in a bit. Don’t fuss.” He chuckled, eyes twinkling in amusement. He seemed to always be amused when Bilbo got his dander up, though why Bilbo had no idea.

“Bedroll?” Bilbo frowned deeper. “Nonsense. You’ll stay here.” He was not going to sleep in a bed knowing that Balin was sleeping on the hard floor, bedroll or no bedroll.

Balin stared at him a moment. “Lad, several of us are sleeping on our bedrolls. It’s alright.” He smiled gently.

“No.” Bilbo said forcefully. “Now put out that pipe and get over here.” He didn’t care what the others had to do. There was room in the bed for probably Balin and one or two of the others, as well as Bilbo, but the Hobbit was only concerned with Balin.

The Dwarf laughed and shook his head. “You are a rather bossy Hobbit, when you’re of a mind.” He snuffed out his pipe, though, then stood to walk around to the other side of the bed. “I can’t deny that the thought of something softer is very appealing. If it will make you rest better, me sleeping here, then I won’t say no.”

Bilbo gave his own laugh. “You are a crafty Dwarf, Balin, and clever with your words.” He grinned at the Dwarf.

“Of course. How else could I get Thorin to do anything, if I wasn’t?” He asked before climbing up to lie beside the Hobbit.

Chuckling, Bilbo settled down to sleep again. He shifted closer to Balin, unable to help himself as he was drawn to the warmth and the comforting scent that was purely Balin’s own. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

Balin reached out and squeezed Bilbo’s hand briefly. “Probably for the best you don’t.”

Silence followed that, and Bilbo again fell asleep. When he woke up the next morning, he’d curled himself up against Balin’s side and tucked his head on his shoulder. A quiet rumble was vibrating under his ear, and he realized Balin was speaking softly in the Dwarven tongue to someone. His arm was around Bilbo’s back, holding the Hobbit close to him as well, so he clearly wasn’t disturbed by the position they found themselves in.

Bilbo, however, felt his face heat and he shifted to sit up. The voices quieted completely and he blinked blearily to find Dwalin standing beside the bed smirking so broadly it might as well have been a grin. The Hobbit wasn’t sure what he was smirking about, and the way his bladder felt he didn’t overly care. He ignored the two, moving away and for the edge of the bed, stumbling a bit once on his feet as he wasn’t quite awake enough for full dexterity in his limbs. He grumbled at the chuckle behind him. He’d deal with Dwalin later.

By the time he’d gone to relieve himself and came back, Dwalin was gone and Balin was up as well, stoking the fire in the small hearth in the room. “I’ll go get you breakfast, lad.” Balin offered him a small smile.

Bilbo thought to protest, that he was able to go down and eat with everyone else, but he had no idea what time it was, if they’d already eaten or not, and he still wasn’t sure why Dwalin had been so amused at his expense. It was probably best not to deal with the large Dwarf. “Thank you, Balin.” He gave him a small smile and went to sit on the bed to wait.

Breakfast was quiet, the two of them eating together without talk. Bilbo had a lot on his mind, so that suited him fine. Afterward, Balin took their trays and told him he would see him that evening, as he had things to see to with Dwalin. Not having expected the Dwarf to stick around all day, Bilbo smiled and told him to have a pleasant day before sitting quietly. Without much to do besides play with the pipe that somehow was _still_ in bed with him, Bilbo dozed off from the boredom.

He didn’t see Balin again until right before they were to leave for the mountain. Bofur had told him that Thorin was keeping Balin and Dwalin both busy making preparations when the Hobbit had finally given in and asked after the Dwarf. He tried not to be disappointed, to be upset when Balin couldn’t make the time to spend at least a few moments with him.

Whatever it might have meant to Bilbo to be so close to Balin that one night, sharing the bed, he knew it had only been the act of a friend on Balin’s part. It would probably be a good idea, all around, to distance himself from the Dwarf before the inevitable happened. Maybe he could save himself some pain that way.

As they got in the boats to take them to the shore of the lake, Bilbo followed behind Bofur in silence, refusing to let himself look for Balin amongst the others. He saw him, nonetheless, standing beside Thorin and directing the others with the supplies they were loading into the boats. It shouldn’t have made him feel so happy and so sad at the same time to see his friend, and he hated that he had to go and complicate their friendship with such feelings.

He stayed with Bombur and Bofur, listening silently and staring at the water as Bofur joked and sang loudly to entertain the company. Everyone was happy to be getting so close to the mountain, everyone but Bilbo. A chill grew in his stomach, in his chest, settling there and making him feel miserable.

He couldn’t shake the funk even as they trudged over land toward the mountain. The few times Balin sat with him were only marginally helpful, and in time the Dwarf stopped trying to comfort him with words or asking after what was wrong. Bilbo had no answer to give him, none he wanted to at any rate, so he let it be assumed the fear of going into the mountain, the fear of the Dragon, were weighing on the Hobbit. No one looked poorly on him for it, especially those that remembered the heat of Smaug’s breath, the scent of his flame, and the sound of burning flesh and painful screams.

After they made it to the mountain… Bilbo could never have imagined how horrible things would go, and it wasn’t the Dragon that was the problem. Blast Dwarves and their love for gold and gems. They weren’t much better than the damnable Dragon.

Keeping to himself, hording the Arkenstone in his pocket, Bilbo watched the people he’d grown to care about turn into strangers. Thorin, it wasn’t a surprise, really. He’d heard enough in Rivendell, from Smaug, and observed enough to know the Dwarf was obsessive about the stone, but he’d never imagined it to be this bad.

Bilbo could never have imagined the cold and hateful gazes of the Dwarves, of having his life hanging in Thorin’s grasp so completely. He never thought the time would come he’d be cast away so completely. Hindsight wouldn’t change the choices he’d made. Each one had been made with the best interest of his friends in mind.

The battle had been terrifying, and how he’d made it through was still a bit of a blur. Afterward, he stuck close to Gandalf as much as possible, though he hesitated when the Wizard went to talk with the Dwarves. The sting of Thorin’s actions and words, the pain from the cold looks… It was all so fresh. No matter the assurances that the gold madness was gone from them, Bilbo wasn’t sure if he wanted to see them.

So, he found a place to himself where he curled up to be overlooked and forgotten, wanting to be small and unseen by all those bustling about. He tucked his face into his knees, and wasn’t it something he was so skinny that it was far easier than it had been less than a year before. Bilbo clutched at the tattered hems of his trousers, fingers itching for the pipe that had become a lifeline for him but was lost to him somewhere inside the cursed Dwarven mountain, and he did his best to fight off the tears and pain that threatened to swallow him whole.

How long he sat there, he did not know. The world around him was a constant wave of noise. But the hand that was suddenly on his shoulder jerked him from his melancholy. Without looking, he knew who it was. That hand had rested in that spot so very many times. A soft sob tore its way out of Bilbo’s throat and he buried his face harder against his knees.

Once the first one came, the rest poured out of him. He didn’t fight as he was pulled into strong arms and held tight. His hands let go of his pants to grip hold of a heavy coat and the various straps on the strong torso. “Shhhh,” a rough, soothing voice murmured into his ear. “I’ve got you.”

Bilbo cried and cried until he didn’t know how he could cry anymore. Throat sore and eyes feeling dry and puffy, he sat back and wiped his sleeve against his nose, not worried in the least about propriety. He was too distracted by the soft smile and gentle gaze looking at him from a face he didn’t think he’d see up so close again. His fingers curled in Balin’s coat tightly.

“Bilbo…” Balin gave a small shake of his head and pulled the Hobbit back into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I do not feel right asking for your forgiveness.”

The Hobbit shook his head as it rested against the Dwarf’s chest. “Don’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re too forgiving, my friend.” A large hand pushed into the curls at the back of his head and pulled his face up to meet Balin’s gaze. “You don’t know the depths of my betrayal. You don’t understand that I…”

Bilbo put his fingers over Balin’s lips. “Shhh. It doesn’t matter. Not now.” He tried to smile at him but he could feel it fall flat.

Nodding, Balin leaned back and reached into his pocket. “I have something for you.” He pulled out a pipe, Bilbo’s pipe. “When I found it… Bilbo…”

Throwing caution to the wind, knowing he couldn’t stand it another moment otherwise, Bilbo threw his arms around Balin’s neck and pressed his lips to the Dwarf’s.  He had no idea what he was doing, experience wise, but he knew he wanted nothing more in that moment than to express himself. A kiss seemed the logical way to sum everything up at once.

The Dwarf went still under him. He pulled back, flushed at his forwardness. “I… I’m sorry… I…” He went to scamper off Balin and away, but strong hands grabbed his hips and held him in place. Bilbo swallowed thickly and stared at the Dwarf’s chest.

“Bilbo,” Balin spoke softly, leaning forward to push his forehead to the Hobbit’s. “Peace, Bilbo. It is alright.” He stared at Balin’s mouth, afraid to see the look in his eyes. He saw lips curve into a gentle smile. The hands on his hips moved, strong arms circling around him and pulling all the closer to Balin. “I’m rather glad you made the first move. I probably would have dragged my feet for much longer.”

“I don’t understand.” Bilbo nibbled at his lower lip.

Balin chuckled. “Yes, you do.” He nudged his nose against the Hobbit’s before kissing him softly. “Come on. Gandalf said you’ve not been eating. Let’s go join the others.” Bilbo stiffened in his arms. “It’ll be alright. I’ll be with you.”

He continued to hesitate before finally moving to stand up. Balin would keep him safe, he hoped. Before the mountain, he would have never questioned his safety in the Dwarf’s presence. He hated that he felt any measure of doubt.

Seeing the others again was almost surreal. They each touched him or hugged him, feeling remorse for their actions; all of them, at least, besides Thorin. The king sat, looking worse for wear, watching Bilbo in silence. It didn’t surprise the Hobbit. What did was after the meal when Thorin pulled him aside and got down on his knee to beg the Hobbit’s forgiveness.

He hugged the king in response, forgiving him easily. For such a proud creature as Thorin to grovel it had to be heartfelt. He smiled and put a hand to Thorin’s cheek. “It’s alright.”

The king gave him a faint smile and stood. Bowing a little, he turned and left without a word, glancing behind Bilbo briefly as he did so. Turning, Bilbo found Balin standing there, hand resting casually on the sword at his hip. He lifted a brow as he walked over to him. “Ready to defend me, Mister Balin?” He asked, smirking a little.

“Yes.” Balin put a hand on his shoulder. “Even my king will bring no harm to my Hobbit.” He squeezed the shoulder under his hand.

Bilbo thought over that. He’d been called Balin’s Hobbit before. “They knew, as far back as Beorn’s, didn’t they?” He stepped closer to Balin.

“I suspect they did. To them, my interest was obvious. I had to make sure they didn’t try to steal you away.” He grinned at Bilbo. “Let’s go rest, Bilbo. Tomorrow, we will discuss your plans to return to the Shire. I made a promise, after all, and I think it would be nice to learn more of your people, to spend time there.”

Bilbo stared at him. “What about Erebor? What about Thorin?”

“Erebor is here, free of Smaug, and Thorin has all the others. I will see them again, in time.” He put an arm around his back, pulling him closer so that the Hobbit was flush to him. “I have something more important. I am sorry I lost sight of that, for a time.”

Cheeks warm and a happy smile on his lips, he tucked his face against the Dwarf’s chest. Everything was happening so fast, but he was getting rather used to that. The entire journey had been full of sudden, unexpected twists and turns. This one was far nicer than the rest had been. And, if he took some perverse pleasure in imagining Balin meeting Lobelia, and dealing with her, that was his secret to keep; it made going home all the more appealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - 'Subtlety - Dwalin/Nori.' I have it started, but I have a feeling it's going to prove to be a big one. I also have the one that comes after it started, further along even than it is. After 'Subtlety' comes 'Truthfulness - Elrond/Bilbo.' Yes, you read that right folks. :)


	13. Subtlety - Dwalin/Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon is flickering at the edges of your consciousness with eyes and wings and little puffs of smoke. If you half close your eyes what can you sense?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this great idea for how this was to go, and I think I fell short of the vision in my mind. I think I should have maybe written it from Nori's POV, and that might be something I go back to do at a later date. I just wanted to get this finished and posted after so very, very long. This isn't beta read. I only own the plot (not the characters or setting) and make no money, this is for entertainment only, and all the usual stuff.

Dwalin wiped at the edge of his axe with a caring hand and old stained cloth. He wished for his whetstone for not the first time since shortly after their departure from the Shire. He had no idea how he’d misplaced it, as he wore it on a leather thong and it rested on his breastbone under his armor, but gone it was.

It occurred to him that Nori may have taken it, in some attempt to get a rise out of him, but he’d seen no evidence, and the younger Dwarf had been on his best behavior far as Dwalin could tell. There was the boys, too, but they would have returned it or gotten caught with it within a day, if not hours, of having taken it.

Thankfully, he’d had no need of his axe, so he had not dulled the blade from the last sharpening. But, he’d make use of it before they reached Erebor, there was no doubt. He would have to borrow a stone or find a replacement.

He looked up from the rhythmic polishing as Thorin sat down beside him. They shared a glance then he returned to watching his blade. “Quiet night.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Thorin responded, pulling out his pipe to smoke. If their cook fire had drawn no unwanted attention, then the pipe smoke was more than safe to indulge in.

Dwalin gave a small grunt and set the axe in his hands aside to tend to his other. As he had with the first, he took his time to polish and care for the weapon. His life, and the lives of the others, depended on the state of his weapons; if they weren’t ready, if they failed him… He couldn’t think about it because it wouldn’t happen. His weapons never failed. He would protect the Company, protect his king.

The night did go quietly. Dwalin was glad for that. In fact, several passed without incident. A few nights later, as he pulled his rag from his pack to tend his blades, something fell from its folds. Reaching down, he picked up the small object that had fallen from the cloth. Turning it over in his hand, he realized it was a small piece of smooth, flat ragstone, which had been crudely yet delicately chipped away to make a small hole for a leather thong without cracking the entire piece. The stone was just the right size to not be obtrusive under his armor, and it was in better condition than the one that had disappeared.

Someone had replaced his missing sharpening stone. Someone had been in his pack without him noticing. Carefully, he pulled everything from inside and inspected it all. Other than the addition of the stone, nothing had been bothered.  This relieved him, and he replaced his things into the pack again.

Likely, everyone save perhaps Bilbo had noticed he’d not had a stone when he was tending to his blades. Any of the others could have, reasonably, replaced it. But, only a couple would probably dare to sneak it in his pack. Balin and Thorin were the only two he let his guard down enough to get close enough, at least while he was awake. But why be sneaky at all? Both were blunt enough to just shove it into his hand, and neither was likely to take the time to put it on a strip of leather.

And yet…

It had to be Thorin. The other Dwarf wouldn’t want to make a fuss, and even something as simple as handing it over was a fuss for Thorin. If he handed it over, Dwalin would be obligated to express gratitude. And, by Thorin’s mind and upbringing, it could show favoritism, too, even if it wasn’t; it was simple pragmatism. And pragmatism summed Thorin up as sure as stone, but there were those in the Company who looked to traditions and codes that were archaic and pointless and honestly made Dwalin’s head spin. Still, if the king waited until while on watch…

Dwalin shook his head and figured it best to just assume it was Thorin than run himself in circles. He took his new stone, the rag, and his water skin to sit and properly tend his blade. It was nice and easy to return to his full routine of honing and polishing. He almost didn’t notice Thorin sitting down beside him; he was so lost to what he was doing.

No words passed between them. The older Dwarf busied his hands and mind with a map, resting it so the dying light of the day and the newly lit fire illuminated the surface.

The two probably would have stayed in silence, such was normal for them, if Balin hadn’t joined them. “I see you’ve replaced your stone.” He gave a small smile to his brother.

“Someone slipped it in my pack.” He looked between the other two.

“Good that someone did. We’ll need your blades before journey’s end,” Thorin spoke, not looking up from his musings on the map.

Dwalin continued to work, convinced Thorin _was_ the one to find the stone for him.

* * *

The next time he noticed someone had messed with his belongings was after they’d stopped at a river to bathe; for which the Hobbit had been very pleased and then mortified as they all began to drop trou all at once. The whole thing had been very amusing, especially when Thorin threatened to dump Bilbo in, clothes and all, if he didn’t stop his dithering and whining.

The water had felt good, as had the relaxation and horsing around. For a moment, they could enjoy themselves and not worry about the road ahead.

The weather was warm, so Dwalin hadn’t been ashamed to dry in the sun for Valar and all to see. None of them, save Balin and the Hobbit, seemed in any hurry to dress. And the Wizard, of course, had simply sat in his stuffy robes and watched them with a clear look of enjoyment.  Dwalin wondered if the man wasn’t a bit of a sadist the way the burglar’s discomfort seemed to heighten his pleasure.

Dwalin ended up dozing off on a grassy bank by the water. When he woke, the sun was noticeably lower. He stretched and moved to his feet, immediately checking on everyone else with a sweep of his eyes.

Fíli and Kíli were chasing each other around, still stark bullocks naked. They were followed by a red faced Ori, who was only in his small clothes. Apparently, the princes were carrying the rest of the scribe’s clothing, if the bundle in Kili’s arms was any indication. He passed it to Fíli as they darted around one another, leaving Ori to hesitate before he followed the path of his clothes.

Nori was laughing at his little brother’s expense, not surprisingly, where he sat with Bofur. Both seemed to be mending their tunics, though Bofur appeared to be doing all the actual work.

Bifur, Bilbo, Balin, and Thorin sat near Gandalf. The latter two dwarrows were talking with the wizard while Bilbo listened and watched Bifur whittle. The lad had taken a shine to Bifur, talking to him and sitting with him; it was nice to see the older Dwarrow getting the attention he deserved. Many shunned him because he had an axe in his head and was a bit off because of it.

Óin and Glóin were at the fire with Bombur and Dori, who was fussing over tea while Bombur started on their meal. Dwalin wondered if he realized that Ori was having a princely problem, and then surmised that he’d not. No doubt the entire camp would know when he figured it out.

Satisfied everyone was safe and sound, he walked over to where he’d left his things. His clothes were in a nice, neat folded pile. He certainly hadn’t taken the time. But he could see Bilbo or Dori, prissy as they were, doing so, or maybe Balin, who had spent years picking up after him like a fussy hen.

Better safe than sorry, though, Dwalin picked the top piece up cautiously. Nothing seemed to be wrong, no signs of anything sticky or itchy inside. So he pulled the undershirt on then his small clothes before moving on to the rest.

Once he was dressed, he realized a few worn and ripped places had been mended. Someone had tended to his things with great care. The stitches were neat and precise, put in to be sturdy and last. Dori came to mind, as did Bilbo and Bofur. Glancing around, Bofur seemed to be the only one paying him any mind. The jovial Dwarf was practically grinning, which for some reason seemed to irritate the rogue sitting beside him. As much time as they spent together he was probably jealous.

It certainly wasn’t the first time Dwalin had wondered about the two, what with their whispered conversations and secret looks. It had been cause for concern, at first, not knowing what they were up to and if it was a threat to the Company or the Quest, but the warrior quickly realized that other than some pranks and other minor mischief, there seemed to be nothing up their sleeves.

Dwalin gave Bofur a small nod of his head, a small gesture of acknowledgement and thanks, before moving over to sit with his brother and king. The entire matter of his mended clothing was soon forgotten.

***

Bread was the next thing to catch Dwalin’s attention. They were running low on the sweet yeasty bread that they had acquired while in the Shire. It had a yellow tinted color and the crust was a dark golden brown. It was quite moist when fresh, and Dwalin was certain it had a bit of fruit juice and honey in the dough.

Bilbo, delighted that Dwalin enjoyed it so much, had promised him once they had the mountain, he’d make then Dwarrow as much of it as Dwalin wanted, because Bilbo happened to make the best King’s bread in all of Hobbiton, if he did say so himself. Dwalin was happy to accept, and amused by the way Bilbo was puffed up in pride of his skill, which he used to wheedle out a promise of biscuits like the ones that had been on the Hobbit’s mantle as well.

He, himself, had run out of the rolls he’d had stuffed in his pack and on his pony two days before. Now, as he rummaged around for some of the jerky he knew he still had, intending to eat it while they were stopped for their midday respite; his hand brushed against something smooth that felt soft yet firm under his fingers.  He was surprised to pull out a full loaf of the bread.

To his knowledge, everyone had eaten most of theirs, and he knew it hadn’t been in his pack that morning when they broke camp.  Dwalin couldn’t imagine how it’d come to be there when he’d not been away from his pony the entire morning. Yet, there in his hand, smelling a little extra yeasty but still delicious, was an entire, though small, loaf of the King’s bread; which he really had to ask Bilbo why it was called that.

Thinking of Bilbo, Dwalin could think of no one else who knew of his deep love for this particular food, or who could be sneaky enough to get it into his pack with him _right there_. Dwalin was always on guard, and even the movement of the others in the Company was something he kept a close eye on. It was the best way to protect them, and keep them from finding trouble.

Dwalin broke part of the loaf off and stuffed the rest carefully back into his bag. Walking over to where Bilbo was shaking his legs and feet while trying to subtly give his sore bum a rub, Dwalin broke the piece in his hand in half and handed half to the Hobbit.

Bilbo looked surprised as he looked up at him. “I thought you’d run out of this days ago,” he commented, pinching off a small piece to put into his mouth. Sometimes the Hobbit could act so damn dainty, but Dwalin supposed Bilbo was just trying to make the meager meal, if you could actually call it a meal, stretch as far as possible.

The Dwarf let the Hobbit feign ignorance. “Guess I was wrong.” He watched Bilbo again shake a leg and wriggle his toes. “Before we mount up, I’ll adjust your saddle. Should make riding a bit easier, but you’ll need help to mount.” There was no way Bilbo would be able to reach the stirrups after he adjusted them.  They were already awkward with the Hobbit’s feet.

Bilbo blinked up at Dwalin, looking a little perplexed. “Uh… Thank you.”

Dwalin gave a firm nod, considering the matter closed. The Dwarf enjoyed his bread then waited for Bilbo to finish the slow eating of his own.

Once the Hobbit was ready, and it was time to mount up, Dwalin got the smaller creature onto his pony then began adjusting the straps of the stirrups and the reins. It didn’t take him long to get it adjusted how he wanted, and he gave the pony’s shoulder a pat, a look of satisfaction on his face. Bilbo should at least be a little more comfortable without his legs trying to hang straight down. It might not help his bum, but it would help his legs.

Dwalin mounted his own pony, ignoring curious glances from the others in their Company.

***

A week later, Dwalin really wished that people would leave his pack alone. If they wanted to give him something, they should just walk up and hand it to him. This sneaking business was ridiculous. This time he found himself with pipe tobacco. Not just any, either, but his favorite from the foothills of the Blue Mountains. He’d run out a few days before, and while the Hobbit leaf was good, even had a bit of a better flavor if he was honest, it just wasn’t the same.

He had complained to Balin, and asked his brother if he had any. The older son of Fundin had shook his head and gave a small admonishment that Dwalin should have done a better job of making it last. Balin himself had been mixing a little of it in with the weed they’d picked up in the Shire. Balin hadn’t given him any then, but now it seemed his brother had acquired some. No one else knew he needed it, unless Balin had mentioned it to someone, and Balin wasn’t the sort to waste time on his little brother’s inability to stretch out his pipe tobacco.

He was surprised when, that night, his brother was smoking Old Toby, no traces of the dark, cool flavor of the Ered Luin leaf he’d found in his pack. Not sure why Balin would give him some without keeping any for himself, Dwalin shook his head and handed some over.

“Where’d you get this?” Balin asked as he pulled his pipe from his mouth, his fuzzy brows lifted in curiosity.

“It was in my pack.” Dwalin eyed his brother. He knew Balin well enough to know if the older Dwarf was being sly.

“I thought we’d all mostly run out.” Balin put some in the small leather pouch he kept on his belt then handed the rest back to Dwalin. “Mighty nice gift, as much as you prefer it to any other leaf.”

Dwalin hummed and looked at the tobacco in his hand. If Balin hadn’t given it to him… He shook his head and decided not to worry about it. He’d be careful, make sure it wasn’t tampered with, and then enjoy it for as long as it lasted, silently grateful to whoever had seen fit to stuff it into his pack. There was no point losing sleep over something he’d have to address the entire Company about, and hope someone was honest with him about their intentions with the gift.

But, Dwalin was starting to suspect that maybe something more was going on than the others randomly deciding to put stuff in his pack. While he knew they did it with one another, amongst their family groups more than not, he didn’t really interact with any of them other than his brother and cousins. There wasn’t a subtle bone in Glóin or Óin, Balin clearly hadn’t left him the pipe weed, Thorin would have just tossed it at him if he had some to share, and the boys… Mahal knew it couldn’t have been them. And if it were the Hobbit, who treated them all like kin, in a way, he would have left him some Shire leaf; he’d been complaining about the Dwarves’ poor taste in tobacco since the first night on the road.

Thinking on it while he sat with Balin, the other surprises might not have been as simple as he took them, either. Dwalin was going to have to keep a sharper eye on things.

He spent most of his watch that night puzzling over his whetstone and the bread, as well as the tobacco. But there was nothing other than them appearing in his pack that implied it was the same person. For some reason they didn’t want to be open about what they were doing, so why would they do it at all? What was the point of giving him things without telling him? There was nothing to be gained in it.

He ran his mind in circles the entire night, but he was no closer to an answer the following morning. In fact, as he went to double check his gear, he was even more unsure. His pack had been mended, the hole that had been worn into it stitched up with small careful stitches just like the ones in his clothing.

Dwalin’s mind immediately went to Bofur. Had the miner been the one to leave him gifts? He could think of no reason why Bofur would. The two of them rarely interacted or spoke, beyond what was necessary for the quest, the younger Dwarf preferring the company or his family, Nori, and more often than not of late, the Hobbit. Dwalin could think of no reason for Bofur to have taken interest into what he needed fixed or replaced. The jovial fellow was unlikely to not give himself away, either.

Frustrated, Dwalin brooded all day and even after they’d made camp again. He was left without answers, and then there were trolls and all his attention was on _not_ leaving Thorin with no heirs or a burglar no matter how much he wanted to throttle them.

After that, a lot happened in little time, and before any of them knew it, they were exhausted, starved, and in the middle of Elves. Things could have been worse, somehow, but they sure as Mahal could have been a lot better.

So on guard, the gifts and oddities experienced so far were completely forgotten. Dwalin followed his brother and Thorin around as much as possible, and when he couldn’t, he was standing guard over the rest. The one good note was the rather nice bath he’d had, and while he’d never admit it, he rather liked the scented oil he’d been able to comb into his beard and on rough patches of skin.

Nori cheekily gave him a whistle when he walked by the thief later in the evening, wiggling his braided brows and smirking. “Rather pleasing to the nose tonight, Mister Dwalin. Quite a change from normal, I must say.”

Dwalin grunted at him with a scowl and moved on to sit down with his brother. What little of their packs they still had, they spread out and divided up what was left then sent Nori off to see what he could scavenge up for them. Dwalin didn’t like it, but then, these were Elves so he let it slide. It wasn’t like they had many more options.

By the time the map was read, everyone had a pack again, and the packs were stocked with essentials. Dwalin was curious to find a vial of the oil he’d used in the bath shoved down into the bottom of his new pack. This time, he suspected Nori, but not directly. He knew that Nori had commented to Dori about how his prissy brother would probably enjoy the perfumed oil that Dwalin had reeked of. He’d loudly cautioned, though, that it was a rather feminine scent and strong, so to be careful. Dwalin had smelled rather like a courtesan, and while he knew that wouldn’t bother Dori, it might attract unwanted attention and it would be bothersome if he had to kill one of the Company for making an unwanted pass at his brother.

Dwalin had scowled and growled at the rogue before stomping off, ignoring Nori’s laughter behind him. Looking at the small vial in his hand, he debated on tossing it, so Nori wouldn’t have any fuel to pester him with; but, he did like the smell, and it had been a gift. Dwalin shoved it back down in his pack and glanced around to make sure no one noticed. He then went back to checking his gear.

One the belts for his right boot was broken, had snapped during their run from the Orcs. He was certain it was because the Trolls had dropped his boot too close to their cook fire. He’d been lucky to have any boot at all. And while he could walk in it easily enough without the wrapping, it could be distracting to try to do much else. The boot would be loose and shift around too much.

He didn’t have much that he could fix it with, and he wasn’t going to go asking the Elves for a strap of leather. They had given the Dwarrows enough charity and turned blind eye to Nori’s thieving. He wasn’t going to try to steal one, either, or send Nori to do so. The only thing he could think to use was the leather thong around his neck.

Dwalin removed the whetstone from it, shoving it down into his pack, before rigging the leather string around his boot. The feel was snug and secure around his ankle, if not as much so as it had been. It would have to do, until he found some better way to fix it, and in the meantime he’d have to try to be careful and not break it.

Gear checked and everything at the ready, Dwalin laid to rest while he could. He knew Thorin planned for them to leave, to sneak out, during the night. It would be best to have at least a little sleep before then.

When Thorin did rouse them, they all moved quickly out of Rivendell and into the Misty Mountains. It was there, as they stopped for a break, Dwalin scratching the back of his neck, his fingers brushed against a cord of leather. Frowning, he tugged on it, finding his whetstone against his breast. How had he not noticed…?

Dwalin looked down at his boot, where he had used the string from the whetstone the night before. Gone was the small strip of leather, replaced with a sturdy leather belt. How in Mahal had someone put a belt on his boot and put his whetstone around his neck, _and he didn’t notice!_

His confusion must have shown on his face because Thorin was giving him what amounted as a look of concern for the pensive king. He could only shake his head, not sure what to tell his older cousin. Thorin might think him mad if he tried.

Not sure what else to do, Dwalin put it from his mind. The road ahead needed his attention, his complete focus. Whatever reason he’d become the source of someone’s… What? Entertainment? Concern? Dwalin didn’t know. Maybe the Company was just looking out for one another, and he wasn’t the only one that got gifts, but why the sneaking?

He found himself eyeing Nori, not for the first time. Nori was the sneakiest amongst them, in character if not stealth; and it amused Dwalin to no end how Nori pouted about the fact Bilbo could move quieter and more unseen. His mind did seem to come back to Nori each time he put much thought to the… attention. But it had all been helpful and thoughtful; neither would he label the rogue unless it came to his brothers, and then mostly just Ori. Dwalin’s and Nori’s interactions had mostly always bordered on hostile.

Dwalin shook his head. He was supposed to be _not_ thinking about it. And, Thorin was giving him that look again. He grunted at his cousin and stood, ready to move on at Thorin’s word. And though Thorin eyed him a moment longer, the king did not say anything.

Things after that had been routine, at first, and then they’d gone completely chaotic. By the time they came to the Carrock, it was a wonder they were all alive. Tired and in pain, they rested for a time, spreading what little they had by way of food amongst them to give them a little strength, and those who were able went to forage for more, not that much could be found.

One thing they did find was a few dozen apples: little tart things that Dwalin could have eaten a bushel of. The Company went through them in two meals, by force of will, supper and then breakfast before starting to move on the path Gandalf had set for them.

The following evening, much to Ori’s horror and his own displeasure, they made a meal of edible flowers and leaves Bilbo and Bifur gathered up for them. Dwalin was sure he wasn’t the only one who would have liked even just one more apple, though some of their number, Bombur amazingly, Thorin and Balin hadn’t cared for the tart taste. Dwalin had seen Nori give up his own to Ori, though if that was due to displeasure or brotherly concern was anyone’s guess. He suspected that Bilbo agreed that they weren’t very good, but he made no comment. In fact, he seemed to make a point of stating his appreciation.

He had found Bilbo easier to understand after so long on the road together, to the point that looks the Hobbit was giving Bofur were not lost on him, much as the attention Thorin was paying to their burglar was not. That was a royal mess waiting to happen; one Dwalin wanted no part of.

Still, the apples would have been better than bits of flower and grass, going by the way Bombur was grumbling, or maybe that was just his stomach. Mahal knew they were all in a glum mood by the time they’d finished their meager meal.

Come morning, as they walked along after another small meal of leaves, Dwalin was more than a little surprised to find two apples in his pocket. The shock only lasted briefly, and his mind traveled to the other gifts he’d put from his thoughts. He was beginning to truly suspect he was the target of someone’s affections, unless his brother truly had disliked the apples so much. Or, he was being a doting dunderhead. Balin had gone without many times in the past so his little brother didn’t have to.

Why ever or whoever, Dwalin couldn’t help but appreciate it, but he didn’t eat them, either. He couldn’t do that when the others had to make it on puny weeds alone. Later, when everyone had bellies full, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too much later, he’d pull them out to enjoy. He would be able to savor them without hunger clouding the experience.

The apples sat in his pocket for a few days, but finally, in Beorn’s halls, he found his chance, and savor them he did. One a whim, he kept some of the seeds, wrapped in a small bit of cloth. Even if Dwarves had no use for them, Bilbo might, or they could be given to the Men on the lake to plant, and then Dwalin could savor the fruit again in a decade or so.

It was also here that another present appeared by him in the night. A pair of freshly knitted hand and wrist warmers, and while they were something he wouldn’t usually wear, Durin’s Day marked the start of winter, and he might very well need them. He had seen Ori and Dori getting wool from the sheep, but he doubted they would have bothered with him, not secretly and before everyone else.

Having finally had enough of puzzling it all out on his own, he went to the one person that he always turned to when he needed advice or an honest opinion. Balin never turned him wrong, and he wouldn’t laugh at him, too much.

He found Balin was sitting outside under a tree, and the elder brother listened to all Dwalin had to say while casually smoking and watching the clouds through the leaves above their heads. Other than the occasional soft chuckle, you’d not have known he was listening at all. When Dwalin had finished his tale, the older son of Fundin lowered his pipe and looked thoughtful. “It’s probably good someone doesn’t think you’re as hopeless as you sound right now. I was beginning to lose hope.”

“Hey now…” Dwalin started but stopped just as suddenly when Balin held a hand up for him to be quiet. Sometimes Balin still made him feel like a Dwarfling with a simple look.

“I’m sure it’s just that your focus has been needed by our quest, brother.” Balin’s smile didn’t quite agree with his words. But Balin had always called him stone headed, so that was no surprise. “It’s rather quite obvious, really. You’ve caught someone’s eye, and they’re trying to court you.”

Dwalin could only stare for a long moment. Sure he’d briefly considered that himself, but hearing it said out loud made it sound even more ridiculous. “You’ve finally lost your mind. I thought you’d be a bit older before it happened, but Thorin and the lads have driven you over the edge.”

The look his brother gave him could only be described as a mixture of irritated fondness and tired exasperation. Balin had perfected the look over the years, due in large part to Dwalin as many times as Dwalin had seen it over the years. “Don’t be quick to dismiss the idea. You’re a fine Dwarf, and this quest has put your worth on grand display.”

“But why the secrecy?” He growled, loud enough to draw the attention of Thorin and some of the others. It was no surprise when Thorin began slowly making his way over; his injuries were still giving him some pain yet the mention of secrets was sure to set off bells and whistles for the paranoid king.

“That right there.” Balin pointed at him with the tip of his pipe. “Can’t say as I blame them.”

Dwalin growled again, low and frustrated. What did that mean? “How can I take any of this seriously? None of it has been a clear declaration, and even if I appreciate the gifts, I’d do so more if they meant more, which they would if I knew who and why!” Only by the lifted brows of his brother and that damned concerned frown of Thorin’s, not to mention the complete silence around them, did he realize he was practically shouting.

He deflated and sighed before rubbing at his face. “Maybe you have a point,” he mumbled just loud enough for Balin and Thorin.

The king gingerly lowered himself to lean against the tree. “When one of you wants to tell me what’s going on…” He trailed off with a pointed look.

Balin repacked his pipe, as if nothing odd was happening. Good old’ Balin, always composed no matter what was happening around him. “Dwalin hadn’t realized he was being courted.”

The shock on Thorin’s face made Dwalin frown. It wasn’t shock that someone was courting him, it was shock that Dwalin hadn’t noticed. He knew Thorin more than well enough to tell the difference. That meant both of them had known, before he came to speak with Balin. The frown on his face turned to a scowl. They had known and they hadn’t helped him realize, had left him to flounder! “If you’re so clever, tell me who it is,” he snapped.

“I could,” Balin spoke, and Dwalin found he was actually somewhat surprised. He didn’t think Balin would actually _know_.  But then, Balin always seemed to know _everything_. It was downright annoying. “But, it’s not my place. You’ll figure it out, or they’ll finally tell you.” He gave a small shrug then puffed on his pipe.

“As long as this doesn’t interfere with our goals,” Thorin spoke. “But I need both of your heads in the game, more than some.” The older Dwarf knew, too, then, and he was giving his cousin a clue. It was hard to remember that Thorin could be subtle, when he put his mind to it.

Balin rolled his eyes but didn’t call Thorin out. He probably thought Dwalin couldn’t puzzle it out from that, but he wasn’t the princes, and he _would_ have his answer before they left to the wood.

Growling yet again, Dwalin stood up and stalked into the house to get his axes. Some light practice would help him focus, and the Hobbit had been lucky against the Orcs. He might as well show him a few things so he wasn’t completely hopeless.

“Burglar,” he barked as he came back out, “get your Elven toothpick. You’re going to learn how to use it.”

The Hobbit, sitting with Ori and Dori as the two knitted, blinked. He seemed to be trying to decide if Dwalin actually meant him. Then, under Dwalin’s impatient gaze, his eyes darted around like a skittish mouse, or rabbit. Maybe Beorn was on to something with all that bunny nonsense.

“We would feel better if we knew you could defend yourself, with the way you throw yourself at the enemy.” Thorin’s rough voice was soft, for him, and almost tender. It made Dwalin want to gag, though he wasn’t sure why. “We don’t want to lose our Burglar.” Thorin smiled from his seat against the tree, but even at a distance, you couldn’t miss a light in his eyes.

Not to be left out, of course, Bofur spoke next. “Only if you want, Bilbo, but you could get separated from us again…” His face was complete concern, worry; made Dwalin want to roll his eyes. All the soft feelings and loving looks were going to give him hives. He really hoped they waited at least until after they had the stone to… Well, the stone might only complicate matters, more than he cared to think about. Dwalin had his own problems without dwelling on an impending feud over a Hobbit.

Bilbo huffed but stood to go inside to get his tiny sword. This was going to be fun. Grinning, Dwalin waited, ignoring the sharp look from Thorin or the concerned nibbling of Bofur’s lip, though briefly he wondered how he had ever thought Bofur and Nori were interested in one another.

* * *

A couple of days later had Dwalin thinking someone was slipping some sort of drug or poison into his food or drink to keep him unconscious while they left their presents. No Dwarf would sleep through someone braiding a courting bead into their beard, and certainly not Dwalin. Only the Hobbit would have a chance of success, and he had no knowledge of braids and beads. The only other one remotely that sneaky…

_Mahal’s beard!_ Dwalin fell back on the hay with a groan. It all came back to Nori. Again. _Nori._

Had he really been so blind? Had the answer been right there, figured out all that time ago, and he’d pushed it aside because it was _Nori_? And why would the rogue want anything to do with him, let alone _this_?

Before he could come close to figuring any of it out, Thorin was calling them all to eat and get ready; they made for Mirkwood within the hour. Dwalin would find no time to think about much else other than the blasted forest until he came to be in the Elvenking’s dungeon.

Sitting in the small cell in Thranduil’s dungeon, Dwalin had plenty of time to think about all sorts of things. Chiefest amongst them was getting out of Mirkwood, but he also spent a good amount of time fingering the bead in his beard and thinking about Nori. With proper reflection, Dwalin came to the conclusion that all of it; bread, stone, apples, mending his clothes, and so on; all of it had gone back to Nori. And while he’d noticed, he’d never made the connection.

He and Nori had a torrid past. One was a rogue, the other was a guard. That in itself left them often at odds. But Nori seemed to delight in causing trouble, and he often picked on those who were of noble birth, who had more and didn’t share. Dwalin couldn’t fault him in that, but he still had a job to do, a responsibility. So he chased Nori, but he could never find evidence to prove anything he’d done.  At times, though, Nori made things a bit more personal, seemed to delight in making a fool of Dwalin, and that pissed the older Dwarf off.

Things became more heated over time. The more Dwalin got angry, the further Nori would push to get a reaction. Even when he wasn’t chasing Nori for a crime, if they bumped into one another an argument was likely to ensue. He and Nori were like black powder and fire. So why in Mahal was Nori giving him courting gifts?

No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t make sense. With the why getting him nowhere, he had to think about what happened next. Did he accept? He certainly hadn’t taken the bead out when it’d appeared in his beard. In fact, he’d been protective of it since; making sure it was secure so it didn’t get lost.  He didn’t think about it, it was just a natural reaction. But did that mean something more?

Dwalin tried to imagine his life with more of Nori in it, and he tried to imagine his life without the thief at all. The latter felt wrong. Nori had been a large part of his life for decades. If he was suddenly not there, Dwalin would feel adrift. But did he need Nori enough to court him, to try to make something more between them?

It was all so frustrating, and he couldn’t come up with a solid answer. He knew he was going to have to talk to the rogue, there was no other way, but that wasn’t going to happen while they were stuck in damn cages.

As days passed, Dwalin realized that he did miss things about Nori he hadn’t thought he would. He missed things about most of the Company, even seeing Bofur’s stupid hat, but he came to realize that he’d been keeping more of an eye on Nori than he’d known. It was habit, to watch the thief, make sure he was behaving.

What wasn’t routine was the fact that he had memorized his smile, knew what the different lines around his eyes meant, knew his eyes shifted colors slightly with his moods, knew how he smelled, and could imagine his voice, his laugh as if he were truly hearing them. Somewhere, somehow, Dwalin had learned Nori almost as well as he knew himself.

With the prospect of courting him came images of running his hands over expanses of naked flesh, of carding his fingers through Nori’s beautiful hair and pulling in the delicate braids in his eyebrows. It was like a punch to the gut, how hard and fast it hit Dwalin that he was more than willing to accept the courtship, that he even looked forward to it.

They just needed to get out of the Mahal cursed dungeon first!

* * *

In Lake-Town, with some effort as Nori seemed to spend more time out of the house than in, Dwalin finally cornered the rogue. He knew Nori had been avoiding him, and the younger Dwarf tried to get away before Dwalin grabbed his arm. His struggles were token and best and he sagged when Dwalin spoke. “We need to talk.”

The large Dwarf dragged Nori into the room he was sharing with his brother. Balin was busy with Thorin so they wouldn’t be disturbed. Dori and Ori were busy with the sick Hobbit, so even if they knew Nori was back, which Dwalin doubted, they were unlikely to come looking for him.

Nori finally pulled away from him as Dwalin shut the door. Crossing his arms, Dwalin leaned back against it, blocking Nori from having at least one escape. For a couple moments, he just watched the other Dwarf pace back and forth in a short distance.

“Are you going to talk or not?!” Nori finally snapped, exasperation clear as his arms jerked into the air with his words. The thief paced away, and then he turned and marched across to the window. It would be easy enough for someone of his skill to escape out it, but Dwalin would probably get to him before he made it clear. The window, Dwalin knew, was locked.

Dwalin locked the door behind him for good measure then stepped away from it.  “Aye. I want to know why.”

The younger Dwarf sighed and leaned his head to the glass. “Does it matter?”

“Aye.” Dwalin stood where his reflection was visible if Nori cared to look. “Still wearin’ the bead, aren’t I?”

The laugh Nori gave was broken, almost hysteric. “Figured you still didn’t know it was me. Thought the Dragon might kill us before we had to do this.”

“Tried awful hard to get my attention to have such little hope in the outcome.” Dwalin moved closer but never within reach. Nori could be dangerous cornered.

The rogue turned suddenly, so much so that Dwalin jerked back a step. “Why are you still wearing it?” he demanded, eyes flashing like he was _angry_ Dwalin still wore his bead. The hands clenching at his sides helped the assumption.

A bit confused, Dwalin rubbed a hand on his head and considered the answer to that question. “You never answered me. I answer you, you answer me.” His hand dropped to his side, and he waited.

The other Dwarf took a minute, chewing on his lip in a way Dwalin would have associated with Ori, not his brother. Growling after a minute, Nori gave a frustrated nod. “Fine. Deal.”

All Dwalin had to do was figure out how to say what he was feeling. Words were not one of his many skills, despite Balin’s many efforts. Sighing, he gave a small shake of his head and settled on his usual method, blunt. “Did a lot of thinking in that dungeon.” He ignored the thief’s snort. “Realized there was no one else. No one else it could be. No one else I wanted it to be.”

Nori watched him, but he didn’t look convinced. Dwalin crossed his arms. He was going to have to say something meaningful, he just knew it. This wasn’t going well at all. “You… You are _fire_. You burn with passion, strength, cunning… beauty. Without realizing it, you burned me, branded me, and there’s no going back for me, now.”

The warrior wasn’t sure if that really explained anything. Nori looked blank as he stared back at him. Dwalin was starting to get worried that he’d have to try to come up with something else to say when suddenly Nori seemed to come to life.

With a growl, Nori moved. On instinct, Dwalin thought he was going to be attacked. What he didn’t expect was Nori to grab his head, fingers sinking deep in his beard, and pull him into one of the hottest, filthiest kisses of his life.  When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead to Dwalin’s. “That answer enough for you?” His voice was breathy as he panted softly.

“Oh, aye. I think that pretty much covers it.” He kissed the rogue again. And maybe it didn’t really answer why, but perhaps there wasn’t truly a way to. Dwalin didn’t feel like he’d really answered the question himself, and there was no doubting the honesty of Nori’s intentions, not with a kiss like that.

Dwalin grabbed hold of Nori’s elbows and began walking backwards to his bed. When his legs hit it, he fell back, pulling Nori down with him. “But if you want to elaborate, I wouldn’t stop you.” He grinned up at Nori broadly.

With a laugh, Nori swooped in and kissed him again. “I should be thorough, leave no doubts.” And if there were still shadows in the back of Nori’s eyes, like he wasn’t certain of _Dwalin’s_ intentions, honesty, Dwalin didn’t call him on it.  

They had a mountain to claim, a dragon to deal with, and a stone to find. They had so much they had to do for their king and for their people, that for that moment, lost in each other’s embrace and trying to reassure the other that, at the end of it all, they were wanted, Dwalin and Nori grasped onto the beginnings of something just for them, something good and true, something worth more than anything else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, it's been over two years. Life got away from me pretty bad, and other fandoms took my attention for a bit. But, I have no intentions of abandoning these oneshots. The next one is more than half done, and I recently started the three to follow it as well as have the two after that planned out. Cross your fingers folks. I'll try to get them done before the end of the year. I know that seems like a long time, but it really, really isn't.


	14. 14. Truthfullness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ancient dragon knows the true names of things and people. Could you find the power of truthfulness today?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the vaguest interpretation of the word, so it's up to the reader just how the story represents the prompt. 
> 
> I had some issue with this one. The opening scene, on the balcony came to me with no trouble. But the middle, from there to when Bilbo arrives to the Shire, felt a bit awkward. Now, in the Shire, the story took over and I had no idea what was going to happen next. I certainly didn't expected or intend of the bit of emotion there; though I certainly don't regret it. 
> 
> There's also a jump in time at the end, making this sort of the start and partial ending of their story. It leaves the roughly 80 years in the middle to the reader's imagination. 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd so there are probably mistakes. It's three in the morning and I want to get it uploaded. 
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply. I do not own the characters/world and this is for fun and no profit.

Rivendell was a wondrous sight. Bilbo felt wary so deep in his bones, he was sure he’d never not feel wary again. The Wizard at his side was silent as they rode in, and Bilbo was happy for it. His last visit had left him little time to truly take in the Elven home, and it truly was a sight to behold.

The welcome they received was warm and inviting. The hobbit found it easy to talk with the Elves, even Elrond, perhaps especially Elrond. Lord of the Valley and powerful Elf or not, Elrond was a gentle soul with a kind smile and attentive ear. Oh, certainly, if angered or life was in danger, he would be as hard and sharp as the greatest Elven sword, as dangerous as the fires of Mount Doom; but Bilbo never felt judged or intimidated, not like he had with Thranduil or Thorin, and by his mind, Elrond was as much a king as they.

Days passed to weeks and the Hobbit rested and recouped from his journey east then back toward home. He spent his time in the great library or walking about the Valley, usually in the company of one or more of his Elven friends. He delighted in the stories of the twins and Glorfindel, the embroidery skills of Arwen, and talking over history and maps with Erestor. Lindir’s music was a balm and soothed him greatly. And Elrond… Bilbo liked to sit quietly with him or play chess or learn of all sorts of things.

With the exception of Gandalf, he’d never known anyone so full of knowledge. Elrond was always happy to impart it as well, unlike the Wizard who liked to be vague and cryptic. So it was Elrond who the Hobbit sought more often than not, and the Elf did not seem to mind; quite the opposite in fact.

The longer he stayed, the less he wanted to go home. An offer made on his first visit played heavily on Bilbo’s mind, but he wasn’t sure it had been meant as anything other than escape from the Company. He no longer needed that escape.

So it was, the closer time for him to continue to the Shire, the more forlorn he began to feel. In truth, he probably should have already moved on. The Elves never mentioned his extended stay. They continued to be friendly and inviting. As a well-mannered Hobbit, Bilbo _knew_ he was imposing, and Gandalf was growing impatient.

Looking out over the Valley, he resigned himself. It was time. He had to move on. Yet, he wanted to remember everything, in as much detail as possible. He really did not think he’d see it again.

The rustle of robes drew his attention, and he looked up. He _always_ had to look up. That was one thing he might not miss, even as beautiful as Elves were as a people. He did miss the coziness and humbleness of the Shire, the size of her homes and people.

“I seem to recall our first meeting to be at this balcony.” Elrond smiled down at him.

Bilbo gave a small smile. “Seems so long ago.” His gaze moved back out over the Valley. “I was memorizing everything. I don’t want to ever forget a detail.”

A long fingered hand came to rest on the rail in his periphery, light glinting off the blue stone of the ring on his finger. “You will leave us soon.” The tone was a statement, not a question. Elrond rarely needed to ask anything, and when he did, it was often not because he did not know the answer.

“I’ve imposed long enough.” He didn’t dare look up at the Elf lord. It was impossible to hide anything from that wise gaze. Elrond would read the truth, know how torn Bilbo was.

“You are never an imposition, my friend,” the Elf spoke, voice warm and fond. His large, elegant hand rested briefly on Bilbo’s curls before resting again on the banister.

The Hobbit smiled, a little sadly. “You’re very kind, but my place is in the Shire.”

There was a soft chuckle above his head. He looked up, not sure what could be amusing. Elrond smiled at him fondly, his grey eyes shining. “Mithrandir has often spoken of the Shire and your people, yet after so much time with Dwarves I had wondered…” His face grew serious as his voice trailed off. “You always have a place here, Bilbo Baggins, and you should always consider yourself, not just what’s expected of you.”

Bilbo watched him for a moment. If he did only what was expected, he’d have never left the Shire at all. He’d have not met kings and lords, Men, Elves, or so many Dwarves. The world would be so much smaller and still a mystery contained in a book, a fantasy his youth yearned to chase after.

“Do you?” He finally asked, the question suddenly springing to mind and out of his mouth. There were some things that traveling with Dwarves had changed.

Elrond’s gaze stared out over the Valley for a long moment. “No.” He looked down at Bilbo, his eyes deep and just a little sad. “No, I don’t. But, our circumstances are much different.”

“You have a responsibility to your people.” He understood Elrond was a great Elven lord, even if it grew harder to keep in mind. Bilbo’s concerns must seem paltry in comparison.

“Just because I don’t always doesn’t mean I never do.” He gave a warm smile. “Know that many, including myself, will miss you when you part from us.” He gave Bilbo a pat on the back then left the Hobbit.

Bilbo watched him go then sighed softly.

That evening, at dinner, he watched his new friends from where he sat to Elrond’s left, despite still being a bit flustered at the lord insisting on such a prominent placement. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. He’d grown accustomed to Dwarves, but the presence of the Elves, while so vastly different, was just as dear to him.

All of Elrond’s children were keen on convincing him to stay, the lord clearly having told them of Bilbo’s decision to leave them soon, and even Elrond himself seemed to be paying extra attention to the Hobbit, more often leaning close or touching him. This perplexed Bilbo. It also made him feel hot and tingly in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Glorfindel also made no effort to hide his desire for the Hobbit to stay. And they all might have continued to subtly plead their case if not for Erestor. The advisor cleared his throat and gave them all a stern glance, even his lord. “Instead of fussing so, enjoy the time until Master Baggins leaves us. I am certain he can visit, as you can visit him, or had that not occurred to you?” He lifted a delicate brow at the twins. “You rove about enough without it being out of your way.”

They shared a glance then grinned. “You would welcome us in your home, Bilbo?” Elrohir asked, reminding Bilbo so much of Kíli that he had to bite his lip to keep the tears at bay.

“Yes,” he answered, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. I would be delighted.” The Hobbit smiled at the younger twin. “Any of you are always welcome, and you’ll have a proper Hobbit welcome.”

Gandalf chuckled. “A proper Hobbit welcome is worth the trip in itself,” he told the Elves.

“Especially when the guests are expected.” Bilbo gave him a sour look. The blasted Wizard simply laughed. Bilbo scrunched his nose up and twitched his lip but let it go after a moment. “That’s not to say you can’t just show up. I just won’t be as prepared.” He smiled at his Elven friends.

“We will keep in mind your offer, little one.” Glorfindel smiled brightly and tousled Bilbo’s curls, laughing as the Hobbit swatted at his hand with both of his own. Bilbo patted his hair back into some semblance of order.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said, looking around the table. He really was going to miss them, maybe not as much as he missed his Dwarrows, but he would miss them truly. “Well.”

Elrond reached out and put his long fingered hand over one of Bilbo’s. He didn’t say anything; he just offered a small smile, his grey eyes warm.

The topic was dropped after that, and Bilbo was glad for it. Like Erestor had said, it would be good to enjoy the last of his time. He planned to leave the day after next, and he told Gandalf so when they had a moment alone after supper before he went to sit in the moonlight of the garden for a while before bed. He was joined, after a time, but Elrond, who sat silently beside him. The lord stared out, gaze not seeming to focus on any one thing. It wasn’t the first time Bilbo had seen him gaze so, and he wondered what it was the Elf saw at such times.

They sat in silence for a couple hours before finally Bilbo felt the need for sleep. He hopped off the bench, shaking out his legs and wiggling his toes. The really did need at least one bench for shorter folk.

At Elrond’s soft chuckle, he looked up at him. “I apologize, Bilbo. I should have, in the least, made available a stool for you to rest your feet upon.” He smiled warmly. “Rest well, my friend. I will see you on the morrow.”

Bilbo gave a small bow and a warm smile of his own. “Good night.” He made his way from the garden, the tingle of Elrond’s gaze on his back as he went.

* * *

When it was time for him and Gandalf to leave, he promised himself he would not cry. He would see his friends again; there was no need to get so upset. He pulled his pack over his shoulders and headed out to meet up with the Wizard. The Elves were standing there to see him off. Arwen gave him a hug and a gentle kiss to his brow while the twins thumped him on the back and mussed his hair. Bilbo was beginning to think they did it just so he’d swat at them, given the way they always broke into giggles. Not for the first time, his mind went briefly to Fili and Kíli.

Erestor stepped forward, stopping his melancholy before it could begin, and handed him a bundle of scroll cases. “A gift, Master Baggins, maps for you to enjoy and parchment enough to make many of your own. I look forward to seeing them upon your next visit.”

Bilbo hugged the Elf, who was taken aback but patted the Hobbit on the back before Bilbo moved away from him. He grinned up at the stiff Elf. “I can’t wait to make some to show you. A right proper map of the Shire, in the least.”

Erestor briefly touched his shoulder then stepped out of the way as Glorfindel stepped forward. He scooped Bilbo up into his arms, hugging him tightly and making the Hobbit squeak and squirm to get his feet back on the ground. The golden haired Elf laughed as he sat the Hobbit down.

Tugging his clothes back to rights, Bilbo huffed and looked up at the Elf, exasperated. It lasted all of a moment before he smiled at his friend. “You’d think you naught but an Elfling never mind a powerful Elven warrior.” Glorfindel’s love of life was endearing, and it often amused Bilbo. There was much to learn from someone who had stared death in the face and lived again. That person was bound to know what was important.

“I just can’t help myself, little one.” Glorfindel saw fit to mess his hair, too, and Bilbo just sighed. There was no point in trying to keep it in some sort of order until he was away from Rivendell.

“Glorfindel and I will ride with you a ways,” Elrond spoke up from beside Gandalf. “If that is alright with you.”

Bilbo blinked, surprised. He’d hoped to get his goodbyes done all at once. It was easier that way, but he couldn’t deny them. It wasn’t like they needed his permission either way. “Of course. I would enjoy that. Riding is horrid business. I’ll welcome a distraction.”

“Now, Bilbo, is my company not distraction enough?” Gandalf asked, his eyes sparkling as he looked at the Hobbit, bushy brows raised.

“Well, yes, of course. You know I enjoy your company, but I have had quite a lot of it.” Bilbo rocked back on his heels then forward on his toes. He eyed the pony beside Gandalf’s horse. “I grew used to many to talk to, to hear along the way.”

Gandalf rested a hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder. “Understood, my dear Bilbo.” He squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder then moved to mount his horse.

Glorfindel picked Bilbo up again, dropping him to the pony gently before he and Elrond both mounted their own steeds. This was signal enough for Gandalf to lead them out of the gates, and Bilbo smiled and waved at his friends as he fell into line between Gandalf and Elrond, ignoring the prickling of tears in his eyes. He would see them again; he would make sure of it.

The four of them rode through the day, Glorfindel singing or Elrond sharing history of the various places they could see. Most of it wasn’t anything of great note, but Bilbo enjoyed the history all the same. As it began to grow dark, he frowned at the fact that the Elves had not turned back. He looked to the lord curiously when Gandalf finally called a halt to the journey at a nice place to make camp.

“I would have thought you’d have turned back by now,” Bilbo admitted to Elrond, watching Glorfindel gather firewood. It was rather odd, seeing the Elf do so, but it seemed natural as well.

Elrond smiled and gave a nod. “I was waiting on you to ask. Glorfindel will return in the morning. I thought I might ride with you, to the Shire. I would see the place, as I have not since before it was claimed by your people. It must be dear to you, and Gandalf seems fond. I am curious.”

Bilbo blinked, shocked. “All the way?” He asked, voice a whisper without him meaning it to be.

Elrond put a hand on his shoulder. “I would see you home, Bilbo, so that I know you are safe and well. You have grown quite dear to me.”

The Hobbit flushed, feeling that tingle along his skin and spine again. He swallowed, with effort, and smiled up at the lord. “I would show you, gladly.”

“Good.” Elrond squeezed his shoulder then went to help Glorfindel with the firewood; which was even more peculiar to see, by Bilbo’s mind.

* * *

The trip from Rivendell to the Shire was shorter than the reverse had seemed, despite nothing exciting happening. As they entered the borders, Gandalf took his leave of them. Bilbo watched him go with a fond smile before looking to the Elf at his side. When all he received was a nod of the lord’s head, he knew that Elrond meant to continue on with him. It made his stomach feel warm even as he felt some confusion as to what had drawn the Elf into coming along this far let alone farther still.

As they rode along, Elrond was quiet beside him, seeming to take great interest in the rolling green hills. Bilbo breathed deep of the air and hummed softly, delighted in the scent of the flowers around them and of the Shire itself, earth and smoke and… home. He had no other way to describe it.

Plenty of gawkers could be seen as they made their way along, and he smiled and gave them waves, greeting some of them by name. They just stared, for the most part, though some of them scowled or turned away. Bilbo wasn’t bothered by it. He had expected more of them to do so than were. Though, there seemed to be fewer Hobbits than normal milling about as they neared Hobbiton.

It wasn’t until he could see a crowd around his very own smial in the distance that he realized where they’d all gotten to. Huffing irritably, he dropped off his pony and took her reigns, walking up the lane toward the animated crowd. Behind him, he heard the rustle of robes as Elrond followed suit, but he did not hear the plod of horse hooves. Glancing back, he saw the Elf’s mount grazing on some grass and staying where Elrond had left him. Probably for the best, that. The creature was large and sure to scare some of the small folk.

Marching up the hill, cursing in Khuzdul, some of the choice curses he’d picked up while with the Dwarrow, and wouldn’t they be right chuffed to know he had done so, Bilbo demanded to know what they thought they were doing. The silence was resounding, for all of a minute, and then they dared to not be able to agree that he was he without proof he was. Bilbo had a right mind to stick one of them with Sting. Oh, not actually stab them, but a small prick from a sword, _a sword_ , might actually get them gone.

Growling and glaring, though, he pulled out the contract he still had, that he’d signed for Balin. He had no idea how it had survived to make the journey home with him. It was while he was doing this that they seemed to take notice of the rather tall and fetching Elf standing on the path outside of the gate.  There were gasps and murmurs in ears, and a whole lot of staring.

“I realize most of you have never seen an Elf before, but please stop gawking at Lord Elrond like he’s some obscure wart on your toes!” Bilbo huffed at them, brandishing the contract as one might a sword and chasing several of them off. “And leave that, _thank you_!” He shouted after some of them. “Worse than Dwarrow, carting off a body’s linens as if… Drop those doilies, or so help me.” He yanked one of his mother’s doilies out of a hand. “Go on, shoo. Bunch of busybodies, you’ll not be buying here today, and whoever already has, had best be returning whatever they took! I’ll make Grandfather Took look like a sweet kitten if they aren’t of a mind to comply!”

Half the crowd dropped what they were doing, muttering to one another as they quickly took their leave. Bilbo was not impressed. After Trolls, Orcs, Goblins, a Dragon, and _Dwarrow_ , it’d take an awful lot to impress or fluster him. Stuffy Hobbits certainly weren’t in the running.

Turning to address Elrond, he came face to face with Lobelia, and what was that monstrosity on her head? Yavanna help her, she was in the most horrendous of attire. It was really quite chintzy looking, even if was well tailored and made. And the sour look on her face, like she’d sucked on a peck of lemons. He really did not want to deal with her, and he wished in that moment to have brought a Dwarf with him. If anything could make her get her dander up and storm off, it’d be a Dwarf.

She scowled at Bilbo then looked to the side at Elrond, displeasure apparent and no doubt soon to fly from her tongue. “Don’t even start with me, Lobelia.” He jerked the spoons in her hands from her. “I’m in no mood to listen to a _fauntling_ fuss like a puffed up house cat that got her tail stuck in the door. Away with you, _all_ of you! _Thank you!_ ”

It took several more minutes but soon at that were left were Bilbo, Drogo, and Elrond. Bilbo sighed. “Really.” He wriggled his nose as he watched the last backs go from sight, his hands on his hips. “Really.”

“Some of us tried to stop ‘em, Bilbo, but they were crafty about it. I snuck some of your things away when they weren’t looking. I knew you wouldn’t want that awful shrew to have anything,” Drogo told him, moving forward to hug his cousin. “I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

Bilbo returned the embrace more without thought than any actual inclination. “So am I.” He looked over the mess of his yard. “Do I even want to look inside?” He muttered, more to himself.

“We’ll help you get things back to rights, Bilbo. Don’t you worry. I’ll go gather up some of Tooks, at least they’ll help. Ol’ Fortinbras was none too happy about this business. Think you’ve turned some of his hair white, cousin.” He grinned then quickly left before Bilbo could comment, though the older Baggins really had nothing to say to that. He probably had. Fortinbras had only been Thain for about a year before Bilbo ran off.

“Well, I’m sure you had nothing like this in mind for your first visit to Hobbiton.” He looked up at Elrond. Maybe he should have just stayed in Rivendell like the Elves had wanted.

“No, assuredly not, but that is of little concern for the moment. Are you well, Bilbo? This must all be difficult for you.” He moved through the gate and to the Hobbit’s side, long fingers brushed through Bilbo’s curls, and the Hobbit closed his eyes for a moment. Only Drogo had been happy to see him, so it was nice to receive attention, to know that someone cared about him other than his cousin, even if he’d already known Elrond did.

“Let’s see if I can scare up a pot for tea.” He forced a smile and headed into the smial, freezing just inside the door. Barren. Save for scraps of paper and other such things, the entire place was barren. The home his father had built for his mother, which had always been full of light and warmth, was dark and empty. It made Bilbo’s chest feel much the same way.

Bilbo knew he’d been gone for over a year, he knew. And he understood that the Hobbits would think him dead after so long. He couldn’t necessarily fault them. But to see that they had stripped his home bare, carted off and sold his belongings like they were nothing… like Bilbo was nothing.  It was silly, stupid really, to feel upset about it, but all he could feel was hollow and alone. He had half a mind to return to Erebor just to spite everyone, but no one would probably care save Drogo.

He wasn’t even aware he was crying until he felt arms circle around him from behind. Elrond was kneeling in the dusty floor, holding the Hobbit gently and stroking his curls. It was all a bit much. Turning, he threw himself into the Elf, clutching at the robes without thought and crying into his neck, half afraid that he might be pushed away at the clinginess.

The arms around him cradled him closer, and Elrond’s warmth surrounded him. He felt safe and loved, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. He focused on the warmth, the spicy sweet scent that was purely Elrond’s, the soft breath against his ear as a quiet voice murmured softly against it to sooth him, and the gentle strokes of a hand along the column of his spine, the other buried in his hair.

Bilbo felt himself start to relax, and he slumped down against the Elf as he sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what came over me.” He could feel embarrassment start to grow in him.

Elrond just smiled and cupped his cheek. “Never apologize for needing comfort, Bilbo. It is alright to feel overwhelmed and lost at times, and I am more than happy to always offer comfort to you.” He leaned in and gave him a faint kiss on the cheek. “What say I make some tea and you rest? It’s been a long journey there and back again.” He stood, Bilbo in his arms and moved to find the kitchen.

Bilbo felt small in the Elf’s arms, physically at least. As Elrond sat him down and smiled at him again, the Hobbit felt equal, too. And the tingles and warmth that had been creeping up on him here and there when the Elf talked, smiled, or touched him were so strong in that moment, that he could no longer deny what it was. As he watched Elrond move around the kitchen, finding a dusty pan and some earthenware cups to make them tea, if not necessarily a proper one, he basked in it for the moment.

He knew, soon enough, Elrond would leave and he’d have to push aside the affection growing in his heart, bury it deep and try to forget about it, much as he had already done for a king and two princes. It would hurt, but there was no other choice, even if he thought he might see a hint of something in Elrond’s eyes or the way he smiled. Some things, no matter how good and true, were not worth the pain that came after them.

* * *

“Have you settled on a title for your book, melethnin?” Elrond asked where he sat beside Bilbo on what was considered to be ‘their’ balcony. It was where they had met, where they had talked so many times, where they had shared so very much, and Bilbo cherished the place. He often thought it would be a good place to close his eyes for the final time.

He leaned into the Elf’s side and hummed, feeling so tired. Ever since he’d left the Shire, his age seemed to be trying to catch up to him. His hair was snow white and his skin was starting to sag and wrinkle. But Elrond still looked at him with the same gentle expression, touched him with the same sure hands, and placed the same chaste kisses on his brow and cheek, and a few not so chaste ones in a few other places. For that, he was grateful.

“I have.” He told him, closing his eyes and listening to the heart near his ear. “There and Back Again. It was something you said to me, once.” He sighed softly, enjoying the feeling of fingers carding through his curls like he always did.

“I am happy to have helped.” He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Bilbo’s lips. “You should get some rest, melethnin. I need to prepare for the Council.”

Bilbo sat up, frowning. Not for the first time since finding out, he felt guilty for what he’d done to Frodo. He hadn’t seen the lad in almost twenty years. Twenty years…. Had it really been that long? Maybe his age was taking longer to catch up with him than he thought. “I wish I’d never found that blasted ring,” he told him bitterly, even as a small part of him wanted nothing more than to snatch it up and keep it for himself for all time. It might give him more time with Elrond, if nothing else.

“I know, Bilbo, but done is done, and it is better to be found this way than by someone who would use it, or take it to its master. In many ways, your finding it has been a blessing. Where would your Dwarrow have been without it?” He smiled and cupped Bilbo’s cheek with a soft, smooth hand. He ignored the way those hands always made him tingle, despite how old he was getting. He’d never stop yearning to feel them against him, holding him. They were so large and strong…

And he was getting away from himself. Elrond was frowning at him a little. “Do you think any of them will come? You said the Dwarrow were sending someone, right?”

“They are.” He smiled. “I believe Dain has sent Glóin as the main spokesmen for the Dwarrow.”

Bilbo smiled brightly. “Oh I can’t wait to see him. It’s been so long since I’ve seen any of them. The last was Balin, I think. He told me how he planned to retake Moria.” Bilbo frowned. “I wonder how that went. I’ll have to ask Glóin. Oh I bet Gimli’s a strong strapping lad now. Not that Glóin’s head could get any bigger about his son. I’ll have to ask him about everyone else, too.”

Elrond chuckled and he looked up at him. “I’ll have you informed the second they arrive, Bilbo.” He leaned down and kissed him again, not so chastely this time, before standing. “Don’t wear yourself out or stay in the sun too long.”

He huffed but smiled. “Yes, yes. I know.” He smiled up at the Elf. “You fuss too much.”

Elrond laughed as he turned to leave. “Coming from you, melethnin, that is something. You’re the fussiest creature I’ve ever met.”

Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms, watching the lord leave. Fussy indeed; but Elrond did take very good care of him, and he could never regret his choice to come to Rivendell for the last of his days. He would have stayed forever by his Elf’s side, if possible, and he was going to ring every moment he could out of the time he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the two old ones are out of the way. That means I can try to focus on the ones I've recently started. As of right now, the pairings for the next few are as follows (and subject to change if something better comes to mind):  
> 15 Satisfaction - Bilbo/Dori (There will be tea, I can assure you.)  
> 16 Tenacity - Bofur/Dwalin (I love this pairing, so it better cooperate)  
> 17 Potential - Bilbo/ (probably Thorin, but it could be Fili or Nori... pretty set on Thorin I think)  
> 18 Instant Gratification - Bilbo/Thranduil (this is one that I'm not sure about, but it's where I'd like to go)  
> 19 Vulnerability - Bilbo/Thorin (this one I was struck with an idea for that I have planned out farther than the rest, go figure it's the last of the group)  
> 20 will be Sensuousness, but I have nothing planned or even an inkling of where that one might go yet.


	15. Satisfaction - Bilbo/Dori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon sneaks in by the back door. have you done enough for now or is there more to accomplish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one cranked out pretty fast, and I'm dedicating it to Odin for the inspiration I've had of late in my writing.

Bilbo had been back in Hobbiton for almost five months. As much as he tried, he couldn’t fall back into the routine of things as they’d been before his journey. He knew life would feel boring after so long away and with so much excitement on the quest. He had also known he would be considered quite mad and queer for a Hobbit. Hobbits simply did not adventure or befriend dwarves and wizards.  Most Hobbits had trouble even with the men of Bree and the Rangers that passed through the Shire.

Gandalf had been right, too. Bilbo wasn’t really anything like the Hobbit that had raced out of the Shire, what seemed forever and an age ago. He often found himself rechecking the date, because surely more time had passed than that. The Shire was so boring and mundane, so predictable; his struggle to fit back in and slow down was only made worse.

So, when he returned from the market one bright warm Sunday in mid Halimath, Bilbo fully expected to sit and work on his maps then have afternoon tea. He had a rather nice seed cake waiting with honey to drizzle over it.  Both resigned to his boring afternoon as well as anticipating his late afternoon meal, Bilbo took a moment to realize his smial was full of the lovely scent of lavender tea.

Silently, he eased his door closed and padded a few steps in. He was on guard, ears straining for any telltale sign of who was in his house. His first thought went to Lobelia, but she would have taken whatever she wanted and left before he returned. She certainly wouldn’t have stopped to prepare tea.

Then, he thought of Gandalf, but the Wizard wouldn’t make tea, either, and the place would have smelled of Old Toby. Gandalf also was unlikely to return so soon after he had left, even if it had been months ago.

So then, who was in his smial?

Squaring his shoulders and carrying his chin high, he stalked forward and to the kitchen, determined to see who was in his home and give them a sound piece of his mind.  Then, he’d send them on their way. Really, what kind of Hobbit just entered another Hobbit’s home as they pleased? And they called _him_ mad!

Bilbo, mouth open and scathing rebuke on his tongue, strode through the archway into his kitchen then froze. The words, dried up on his tongue as soon as he saw his guest. Well, no surprise they’d just let themselves in. After all, eve a well-mannered Dwarf like Dori was still a Dwarf.

The Hobbit couldn’t be too upset. A Dwarf standing outside his door at length would have drawn all kinds of attention. Nor could any lock in the Shire keep a Dwarf out.  All dwarves knew locks. They prized their secrets far too much not to.

And, most importantly, Dori looked so lost as he looked up to meet Bilbo’s eyes. Something was clearly wrong.  Dori wasn’t the sort to leave his brothers, to travel alone, or to let himself show vulnerability in such a way.

Bilbo dropped the basket in his hand, moving with quick steps further into the kitchen. As he came to his friend’s side, he didn’t say anything, just rested his hand on the Dwarf’s thick forearm in show of support.

A surprisingly gentle hand rested over Bilbo’s, and Dori offered a weak smile. “Tea, Master Baggins?”

“You look to need it more, Mister Dori.” He offered the Dwarf a gentle smile. “Sit. I’ll pour. You’re a guest, after all.” He guided Dori into a seat and turned to pick up the teapot. He poured them both a cup then sat down. “Now, tell me.”

Bilbo was curious about several things. What could make a single Dwarf come so far to end up on his doorstep? Not that all of the Company wasn’t welcome to visit. This was just sudden and a bit odd. “Is it Nori? Ori?” He pressed gently when no answer came.

Dori’s face crumbled a bit and he picked up his tea with a shaky hand. The sip he took was slow and silent, but it took visible effort.

“Oh my,” Bilbo reached out for the Dwarf’s free hand. His mind raced with far too many possibilities. Had Nori pushed his luck too far? Had there been some sort of collapse or illness? Some accident or knife in the night? Why was Dori alone? Was it _both_ of his younger brothers? But then Dori would have been inconsolable, right?

The silver-haired Dwarf sat down his cup and gave Bilbo’s grasping hand a pat. Bilbo hadn’t even realized he’d tightened his grip. “It’s nothing as bad as that,” he spoke, sounding a bit sheepish. He offered Bilbo a small smile. “They’re both doing quite well for themselves.”

Well. Well that was good to know.  Only, that left the Hobbit more confused. He blinked at Dori. “Then what…”

Dori sighed. “I feel silly. They’re always busy, you see, and have made lives for themselves. I rarely see Nori at all and only see Ori every few days.” He gave a little shake of his head.

“Don’t you have a trade or craft like most Dwarrow?” Bilbo asked, curious and nonjudgmental. He realized he’d never heard Dori speak of one, but the others all seemed to have their callings and duties.

Bilbo’s hand was patted again then Dori picked up his cup to take a drink. “Raising and caring for Ori, keeping an eye on Nori… That has taken up a lot of my life, and now they don’t need me.”

While he understood that much, that Dori was feeling left behind, Bilbo didn’t get why Dori couldn’t find something. “How did you support them, if you don’t mind, while in Ered Luin?”

The Dwarf gave a small sigh. “However I had to.” The way he looked into his tea could only be called embarrassment. “Nori had to do a lot, and he found it easier to make a seedy life than a noble one. I hated… hate what he felt he had to become, but he didn’t have much choice. I certainly don’t blame him for his way of life, even if I don’t like it.”

Bilbo was silent for a moment. There were questions, plenty, but he had to decide which the best ones were. “I think he’s still quite noble. You are one of the most noble people I know, and granted, I don’t know that many, but all the same, you are. Nori’s a smart Dwarf, he would have learned a lot from you.” The Hobbit offered his friend a smile, which faltered only a split second in the face of the look Dori was giving him.

With a wiggle of his nose, he took a drink of his tea and pretended not to notice how the Dwarf looked both grateful for the compliment as well as he thought Bilbo had no idea what he was talking about. No doubt it was a look perfected by over a century of being a big brother. Patient, kind, and hidden pain summed it up almost perfectly.

Dori set his tea down and sighed, a tired, wary sound of someone who had seen and done too much, who felt old before their time. Bilbo knew it because he’d sighed that way before. “I’m not so noble. My living may have been honest, but that doesn’t mean it was something I was proud of or happy to do. My pride and honor are ever scarred by it.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it,” Bilbo insisted fiercely, not wanting his friend to force himself to relive something clearly unpleasant. “We can talk about… about why me. You could have gone anywhere, but you came to me, or are you just passing through to the Blue Mountains. I shouldn’t just _assume_ you came all this way to be _here_. Why in the world would you do that! Not that you aren’t welcome to stay, of course, and as long as you want, too. It’s nice to have company again, not that I don’t get visitors, mind, but you’re so much better than nosy, silver spoon stealing, gossiping, nuisance neighbors and relations.” He paused, needing a deep breath. The Hobbit flushed at the somewhat wide-eyed stare he was receiving. “Tongue got away from me there.” He hid behind a drink of tea.

A soft, amused laugh was Dori’s response. “I’ve never met someone who prattled on the way you do. Am I making you nervous?” His smile was teasing but a shadow still hid in his eyes.

“Nonsense.” Bilbo gave a dismissive wave and sat down his empty teacup. “I’ve quite gotten over anxiety about Dwarrow. Thorin quite broke me entirely of that.” It was funny how it was both easier and harder to speak of his friend. Almost a year… “You won’t be home for Durin’s Day. I’d think it’d be a big thing in Erebor this year.”

“Yes, I believe they’re planning something special, but I think I would rather be here. Erebor isn’t home for me.” Dori gave him a smaller smile. “And yes, this was where I chose to travel to, to see you. You… You’ve been a dear friend to me, Bilbo. You understand me and don’t judge me. I’ve found that I have missed you quite a bit more than I ever could have expected.”

The Hobbit flushed. Did Dori mean that the way it sounded? Bilbo, mouth dry, poured himself more tea, ignoring the way his hand felt like it was trembling.

Dori cleared his throat. “I want you to know, _need_ you to know about my past. It’s… You need to know everything about me before you agree to let me stay.”

Bilbo gulped down his tea and shook his head a little harder and faster than he meant to. “Poppycock. I know everything I _need_ to know. I know your character. What else is there?” He asked, not intending to be answered.

This didn’t seem enough to appease Dori. “I would not… Perhaps I have not made my intentions clear. I want to stay here in the Shire with you, _with_ you. I don’t want you to find out later and…”

“Enough.” Bilbo gave a sharp slash with his hand. “Nothing you’ve had to do to provide for you and your family, _nothing_ could make me see you as any less of a noble, honest, proud, and honorable Dwarf, who is my friend and who I am happy to have stay here _with_ me, to the end of our days, if that is your wish, or at least the end of mine.”

Dori made a small sound, somewhere between happy and distressed. “I’d not think of the end of your days, if it’s all the same to you, Bilbo.”

Chuckling a little, feeling a bit hysterical, Bilbo got to his feet and walked around the table to his new housemate. “I think that can be arranged.” He came to stand beside the Dwarf.

This was unexpected, completely unforeseen, but he wasn’t averse to any of it. In fact, he felt an anxious tingle inside of him, a quiver that started low in his belly and spread out through the rest of him. He wasn’t familiar with the sensation, but he found it to be quite pleasant. Needing to ground himself, Bilbo put a hand on Dori’s shoulder.

The Dwarf turned to him and pulled Bilbo forward to stand between his knees. His hands were heavy and warm on the Hobbit’s waist. “I do not doubt your honesty but I would still feel better if you let me speak. I _need_ to tell someone. I’m tired of carrying it alone.”

Bilbo moved his hand from Dori’s shoulder to his cheek. “Then tell me, but I think I have figured it out on my own.” His smile was gentle and accepting as he looked down at the seated Dwarf, his eyes barely higher than Dori’s.

In a nervous gesture, Dori licked his lips, and his hands twitched at Bilbo’s waist, thick fingers wrinkling his waistcoat a bit. “For a time, I worked in textiles, and I enjoyed the work, but it dried up soon enough. Not enough could afford them. I had to turn to doing minor tailoring jobs, more mending than anything, and then worked as a launderer. The money was better than none, but Ori had needs and I couldn’t make him live day to day unsure if he would have his meals.”

Bilbo’s fingers stroked along one of the braids in Dori’s beard, trying to sooth and reassure. This was hard for Dori, clearly, and he wanted to stop the Dwarf, but Dori seemed to relaxing some as he talked. Bilbo would share the burden if Dori needed him to.

“It started during one of Nori’s many absences from Ered Luin. I never knew where he went, how long he’d be gone, or even if he’d be able to come home. I couldn’t plan on him and winter was coming.” Dori took a shaky breath. “I was delivering laundry to a Firebeard noble, who took a lot of pleasure in a son of Durin’s Folk having to stop to such a poor way of living. It was a fate of many of Durin’s Folk, and many of the nobles of other clans enjoyed our fall from grace. Many didn’t even want to accept Thorin as their leader, not without the Arkenstone.”

Bilbo felt his blood grow hot, indignant on behalf of his friends. He always felt incensed when how they’d had to live after Erebor was mentioned. He’d like to shove Sting in Smaug’s great glowing eye and lob off Azog’s great white head, repeatedly, not to mention march to Ered Luin and have _words_ with the nobles there. No one should hurt _his_ Dwarrow, not while he could do something about it.

“He knew I was having a hard time, needed money. He made me an offer, an hour of my time for what would usually take two days to make. It shamed me, and I felt sick and filthy afterward, but Ori had a good supper and a new toy. His smile was worth it, I told myself. And I kept telling myself when it happened again and again, when other single Dwarrow made the same offer or were waiting on me at the Firebeard’s house. Ori was happier, had more than he ever had.”

Bilbo wrapped his arms around Dori’s shoulders and hugged him tight but tender. “You never have to live like that again.”

Dori moved his arms around Bilbo’s waist to return the hug. “It went on for years. Nori wasn’t home often enough to notice, and Ori finally got apprenticed to Balin. Balin, it didn’t take him long to figure out what was going on. He’s clever, Balin is. He’d known my reputation; he just hadn’t realized it was mine at first. Not long after that, the requests dried up and I found myself with plenty of mending and laundry work for better pay. The young princes were terrible on their clothes when they were in their first handful of decades. Balin never admitted or told me what he’d done to make everyone uninterested in me, but I have always been grateful.” He paused, swallowing slowly. “There it is, that’s what I needed to say,” he whispered, not meeting Bilbo’s gaze.

Bilbo put his forehead to Dori’s. “And I think only more of you, not less. You truly are the strongest Dwarf I know.” He smiled at the older male. “And on my not so good name, you will _never_ know hardship again, of any kind.”

“Your not so good name?” Dori frowned at him, incredulity shadowing his tone.

A dismissive wave behind Dori’s back wasn’t very effective, but it probably wouldn’t have been if seen either. “Doesn’t matter. How about a proper afternoon tea? A bit late for it, but I have a delicious seed cake we can split between us, and some soft cheese, that will pair with grapes perfectly.” The Hobbit made to pull away to see to it, but arms as strong as iron held him in place. He huffed. “Really, it’s not trouble.”

“Your not so good name? Who besmirches you, Bilbo?” The look in his eyes was one he wore when someone upset or disparaged his brothers.

Bilbo sighed. “I’m not a proper Hobbit, racing off on adventures and being friend to Dwarrow, elves, and men. They consider me quite mad, and I’m proud to be, which only makes me stranger to them.”

Dori’s face darkened more and a frown deepened the look. “Will my being here…”

“You stop right there, you confounded Dwarf, or so help me I’m getting my best iron skillet and seeing how hard your ridiculous head is.” Bilbo crossed his arms, though it was a bit hard trapped in Dori’s embrace.

The Hobbit didn’t expect Dori to laugh, but it was a warm, welcome surprise. “You really are one of a kind.” The Dwarf gave an equally warm smile. “Thank you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo flushed at the tender look. “You’re…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “You’re most welcome.” He offered a smile of his own, even if it was a bit nervous of one. After a moment of silence, he wiggled his nose side to side. “So then, afternoon tea?”

Dori gently knocked his forehead to Bilbo’s then let go of the Hobbit. “Do you need help?”

Bilbo shook his head. “You can help with supper. Sit and relax for now.” He dared to kiss Dori’s cheek then turned to make them more tea and a small meal. He couldn’t help but think things were no longer going to be too boring. He smiled, pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next is Tenacity - Bofur/Dwalin. It is finished but not typed up yet. 
> 
> I've also started work on a multi-chapter Thilbo story with Dragon!Bilbo. I have the prologue and first two and most of the third chapter written but not typed, but I don't really want start posting it until it's finished; because I'd more than likely get it started then leave it hanging, and I don't want to do that with another story.


End file.
